What if Robb Stark
by Erurainon
Summary: What if Robb Stark survived the Red Wedding? A story about Robb's struggle as he tries to survive in a world that wants him dead. Written by John Evans & Edited by Matt Lewis. Copyright 2013.
1. Episode I

EPISODE I

The river ran red with blood. There were bodies in the water. More than a few belonged to women and children from the neighboring villages. I knew none of the pale faces. Yet more than one had heard my name. Their ghosts haunted me through the gloom. I hid my face and turned away. The tears came, thick and poignant although no sound escaped my cracked lips. My throat ached from days feeding off the rough bark of the elm wood that lined the way. Ships and carpenters gathered along the bay by night carrying cargo up and down from the berg. Not one noticed me, and if they did all they saw was a wanderer clad in grey. Few of them knew my face. The scars had healed, and I had cut my beard. A knife had washed up the week before and had looked remarkably clean. After all was said and done, I hardly recognized my own reflection in the dim water. It was time to go.

No fugitive can stay in one place for too long. I needed to keep cover until I could determine the outcome of the war. Whispers followed me wherever I went. Red torches lit the low country by night, and you could hear the rumor of defeat in the mountains. The boy king was pressing his hold. How long before his banners flew over every hill and dell? None could say.

I left the river for the forest-path. There I sat and gazed up at the stars for a long while ere charting my course. A wagon had gone up the green way before headed for a settlement called Mullburrow. I hadn't heard of it before and assumed the folk there would be crewel like the rest. I had been mistaken for a thug more than a few times and had been beaten badly for it. A gash still chafed my upper thigh where an arrow had pierced the male. It was only after I staunched the bleeding with my shirt, I stumbled across a box of potions and ointments. There was no certainty of safe haven anywhere, and I couldn't count on luck to help me a second time.

I had just made up my mind to head to Mullburrow when I heard what sounded like a horse galloping clumsily up the road. Not wanting to be seen, I flung myself down and franticly searched for a hiding place. There was none! The hedges had been uprooted to make way for the merchants and peddlers from the North. Any rocks or boulders were also removed condemning the earth to scrutiny. A mouse couldn't stir an inch without being spotted and stomped on by an angry traveler. All I could do was hold my breath and prepare for the worst. Propping my back up against a withered tree, I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep. The hoof beats drew closer, and at length I could hear the rattling of weal's against the musty dirt. Unable to blind myself to peril, I opened my eyes and stared headlong at a great wooden cart.

An old man dressed in rugged cloth drew the contraption and at his side sat an astonishing woman. She was clad all in white and had yellow hair. A tentative moment fled by and then she gazed right back at me. She had blue eyes the color of warm water on a summer's eve and a smile brighter than the storm. I got up like the fool I was and clumsily bowed not knowing what else to do. The old man spied me next and yanked on the reigns with startling dexterity. There was no fear in his face.

"Who are you," the weary fellow called hobbling to the aged path. "Do you need help?"

"Yes," I stammered amazed at my own tenacity. An ordinary man would have shot me dead where I stood and dragged my corpse to the nearest ditch. The old fellow had to have a bow and quiver with him somewhere.

"What's your name," the woman pressed inching closer. The hem of her dress brushed my aching arm, and I trembled.

"Nathan," I lied abashed at my shabbiness. "I was a farmer … A farmer from away North. My lands … and wife were lost in the raids that followed. I am all that is left of my house."

At this the woman looked directly into my eyes and nodded as though reading the truth there.

"I'm very sorry for you Nathan," she sighed taking my hand. "My name is Ruth and this is my father Ned. We too were farmers. We own a shop in the village. You are welcome to stay the night if you like."

At the mention of the old man's name I blanched and fell suddenly still.

"What is it lad," the aged fellow insisted scratching his head. "Is everything alright?"

"It's just …" I mumbled. "I had a father called Ned once …"

"Where is he now," Ruth calmly asked squeezing my hand. "You can tell us …"

"I thank the Gods," I warmly replied feeling the softness of her grasp. "He's dead … Was the first among us to go."

"Did you love him," she inquired leading me to the cart. A smooth grin creased her lips.

"Yes," I admitted peering down at my feet. "More than any other man."

"I wish I had known him," the old man rasped gazing up at the moon. "There were a lot of great men before this war … A lot of good men. Now they belong to the dust."

"My mother died when I was still a child," Ruth placidly reflected. "I know what its like to lose family."

"We've done our best to hold up," Ned explained climbing back onto the cart. "But you know … It's never quite the same. Elora was fond of guests, and we have never broken tradition. Its time to leave the wild. You'll die if you stay out here too long. There are worse things than wolves in the night."

"Believe me Ned," I grimly chuckled hopping onto the nearest crate. "I know …"

Ruth and I didn't speak much during the ride. She had to help her father tend the reigns and keep the cart rolling. Yet there was always a kindness there that would not die. After a time, the woodlands faded away to reveal a vast green country. Meadows and gardens inhabited the vale, and there were only a dozen homesteads in view for miles.

The village of Mullburrow was a mass of twinkling lights at the crest of an enormous hill. Alone it stood amidst the flat landscape like a beacon through the gloom. Winding paths scaled its steep sides and there were barrows about its base. Afterwards, I learned that the mad king had sent men to crush a rebellion in those parts, and that the men of the vale perished defending their kin. Now bright flowers bloom on the graves of the fallen, and there is a plaque by the wayside marking the place where they fell.

I came upon the village gate around ten when the guards were away drinking. It stood ajar and was coated with a thick layer of rust. The streets beyond were paved in marble blocks and bore the faces of the old Gods. Yellow lanterns burnt in shop-windows, and there were stands at market overflowing with bushels of corn and barley. A store bearing a weathered sign marked an armory chock full of men in male. A wrack outside contained rows of helms and axes. I never have seen a more prosperous or contented people. Even the least among the houses of the folk appeared lavish compared to the hovels of the North.

"This can't be real," I marveled in disbelief. "Tywin would sack this place in an instant if he knew it was here."

"But he doesn't," the old man laughed guiding me off the back of the cart. "He thinks we're just another port village. What he doesn't know is that we've been trading with the outside for years …"

"We're small enough to go overlooked, but large enough to govern our own affairs," she explained brushing her hair. "To be frankly honest, I've never seen a map of the entire vale."

"But surely the local lords demand tribute," I pondered aloud. It seemed ludicrous to me that anybody could have escaped the Lannister's vigilance. Afterall, they had acquired enough influence to murder my family.

"No," Ned briskly whooped evidently amused. "They're too busy killing each other. Sure some of the Lords forced us to pay a little here and there before. But the crone Walder is losing his mind, and the Lannisters don't know what they're doing."

"They never have," Ruth spat darting over to the front-Door. "Robb Stark was a fool, but he was our fool I tell you and a lot better than those rich bastards."

"And how was Robb Stark a fool," I snorted peering up at their house. It was a fine brick building with square windows and a quaint chimney.

"O that's no mystery," she giggled popping open the door like a pint of country beer. "He married that poor lass when he could have won the war a rich man."

"What about love," I asked furrowing my brow. "I heard that he fell for her and couldn't give her up."

"O is that so now," Ruth huffed pretending to be cross. "Well I guess even kings have feelings."

"So it seems," I muttered biting my lip. "So it seems."

The house had three floors. Upstairs there were four bedrooms well furnished with blankets and pillows. The main-floor consisted of two tables and a circle of chairs. Here the family did business or idly gossiped to the setting sun. The lower-floor contained a pantry and oven for cooking. Pots and pans hung on the walls, and there were shelves stock full of baked goods and pastries. Sure enough country ale and fresh bread lay neatly on a dining table perfectly arranged for supper.

At first the cite filled me with insatiable joy. But then it suddenly dawned on me … It was all too perfect … I gave a hard look at Ruth and tried to catch the slightest glimpse of deceit. But there was nothing but affection and hospitality in her smile. Unconvinced I turned to face her father. The old man was unloading a thick leather bag in the corner. He peeped up and nodded nonchalantly.

"You don't have to worry son," he grunted still struggling with the bundle. "We're no spies. We can tell you're on the run … And believe me … We don't care."

"Papa was a deserter once," Ruth elaborated passing me an entire loaf of bread. "He fought with Robert's army in the great war and with the mad king's host away in the East."

"I had enough of slaughter," Ned sighed placing the leather bag in a nearby drawer. "I had a wife then … Nathan … and a much larger home. I ran away and swore I'd never go back. I never have …"

There was a triumphant sadness in the aged fellow's voice that reminded me of my father. I broke the bread before any of the others and handed him a piece.

"You can stay here as long as you like," he said consuming the morsel. "We are all soldiers here, and every soldier … whoever he might be, needs a home."

"What army did you come from," Ruth chimed in. "You sure don't look like a Lannister."

"Thank goodness," I laughed hardily emptying my plate. "I come from Winterfell in the North. I was one of Robb Stark's men."

"Did you know him well," she urged refilling my glass. "You speak of him as though he was a close friend."

"No man truly knows their king," I tactfully argued. I didn't dare give too much away at once.

"I see," she cunningly purred pursing her lips. "You certainly fell from high places … Nathan. You dine like a gentleman."

"If that's the case you do me more honor than I deserve," I mumbled putting down my knife. I should have known better than to cut my bread up like a lord's son. Old habits still die hard.

"Did the king's wife love him very much?" she pressed leaning back in her seat. "Or was it lust?"

"Ruth," her father interjected. There was a hint of caution in his voice as though he suspected something.

"It's alright," I replied feeling my heart burn within me like coal. "I only met the king on a few occasions. But when I did his wife was always with him. Men in the North do not wed like Lannisters … Even those in power."

"But they say the honorable Ned Stark had a bastard," Ruth huffed lifting her glass. "What of him?"

My brother John would have thrown his knife and fork across the table and tackled the woman. But I kept my calm and hid my rage the best I could.

"Ned stark wasn't a perfect man," I admitted grinding my teeth. "But he was the best man I knew."

"Where did you meet him," the old man politely asked. His question instantly killed the tension.

"The day he met with Robert," I lied feigning certainty. "The day he knew he would be Hand of the King."

"A horrid job," Ruth groaned. "What does anybody see in it?"

"Power," her father darkly reflected. The lines in his face began to deepen so that he looked haunted and haggard.

It was then the truth suddenly dawned on me. The old man couldn't be the woman's father. Papa was merely an affectionate by-name. I had been too occupied with avoiding capture to pay attention to the obvious. Ruth was adopted. She had mentioned that her mother, Elora, had died. But she never talked about her real father. Unwilling to disturb the meal, I let the riddle fall dead. I had a roof over my head and enough food to last a lifetime. Why did I want to risk all that over mere technicalities? We finished supper in peace and resigned our dirty plates to a hot tub of water. I cleaned the table and washed myself downstairs in the corner. Fresh clothes were gathered from Ned's collection, and I retired to bed about midnight. Starlight poured through the window, and I could hear the crickets in the yard. The last thing I saw before sleep took me was Ruth's sweet face staring down at me. She was smiling.

.oOo.

Then hell caught up with me. I was back in the hall, and the first arrow had just hit Talisia. She stood beside my look alike … My double … He peered down at her and attempted to shield her from the fire. But it was too late. A terrible cry rang up from my mother's seat and Greywind was cut down. The floor was drenched red. Smoke choked the air, and it was impossible to breathe. You could hear Walder cackling, laughing hysterically through the haze, his fiendish voice a knell of doom.

"You see what happens to oath-breakers Robb Stark," he called shuffling on his lofty seat. "King in the North indeed … Did you think I was that stupid …"

"Lord Walder," my mother howled at the top of her lungs. "That will be enough!"

A scuffle broke out, and I could catch the glint of a knife. My mother's neck was thrust back, and the warm blood gushed out onto her killer's chest.

"Talisa," I cried scrambling to my feet. But it was useless. The second and third arrows had punctured her side in the fighting. The archer prepared another lethal shot but took his time about it. She looked back at me one last time and shut her eyes. Her hand was on her swollen belly. My outburst of rage and grief went unheard and unnoticed. The final arrow flew through the air and dug deep into my wife's heaving form. A blinding flash of sparks shook the chamber, and there was a loud crack. The doors to the outside were opened, and a few lumbering shadows leapt in. Fresh air filled my lungs, and I turned to the exit. It was then, I heard Lord Walder scream.

"Where is he," he bellowed like a beast. "Where is Rob Stark! Find him! Find him now!"

A sell-sword clad in black lunged to grab me, and I hurled myself through the door. Searing pain coated my body, and I fell tumbling onto a gravel highway. The river lay only a few feet away churning dim water. A party of knights coated in armor raced to seize me. I kicked hard off the blasted earth and leapt into the river's embrace. An arrow whizzed overhead, and I sank to the bottom, burdened by my blade and hauberk. A fire was burning in my throat urging me to give in. Talisa's face peered down at me from above whispering words I could not hear. My ears were clogged, and my heart filled with remorse. My jaw collided with a large moss-covered rock not far from where I was lying. I pressed all my weight against the stone and willed myself to live. In a flood of golden light, I soared out of my nightmare and into the waking world.

Morning had come, and the window was open. I had rolled out of bed, and had clung onto a chair in fear. My fingers still hurt from clasping the damned thing. I got up and shuffled into my shoes with the sun in my eyes. It was far too bright, but better than the dark. Anything but the dark … The back-Door had been flung open and held in place by a beaten old box. It had a brass lid and bore markings too complicated to read with a headache. Something about it troubled me although I didn't understand at the time. All I knew was that I needed to sit and breathe the country air while I still could. Walder wouldn't forget me. I hobbled to the garden and lay on the grass beneath a young birch. It had long branches that resembled arms reaching for the cloudless sky. You could see the cottages in the green lands below and fences on the high places where the forest ate up the good earth. A ring of stones marked a bleak pathway that ran through the hills, and you could see the low mounds where the dead men lay. The sight made me shutter.

"You're afraid Nathan," a cool female voice called from close behind. I turned to find Ruth sitting next to me. "I heard you get up and thought I'd see if you need anything."

"I'm fine," I murmured not looking her directly in the eye. So soon after Talisa …

"I already know you better than that," she warmly hummed tapping me on the shoulder. "Tell me; they won't find you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I grunted shifting away. "I'm not running from anything."

"We're all running from something," she laughed shaking her head knowingly. "That's the nature of living, especially during wartime."

"Who are you," I asked frowning down at my scarred hands.

"You tell me," she softly said shrugging her shoulders. "Who are you, yourself, and homeless?"

"I don't know," I grimaced tasting the dregs of my defeat. "Not anymore … Not since ..."

"You aren't the only one," Ruth calmly argued. But it felt too calm for comfort.

"If I stay here and they find me we'll both die," I snorted clenching my fist.

"Who says they haven't stopped searching," she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "Who says they still care …"

"Maybe," I sighed. "But I doubt it."

"Then you can't help it, can you," she firmly mused. "But don't you want to build something before you go?"

"I once had a home," I admitted feeling my heart churn with memory. "I once even had a wife … I don't want to lose that again … Not because of me."

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try," she said with confidence.

"The way you talk about it you make it seem like the easiest thing in the world," I tenderly remarked bowing my head.

"Life is best when you love," she tactfully giggled.

"Alright … alright," I grumbled throwing my hands up in mock surrender. "I'll stay …"

"I knew you would," she warmly grunted tugging me to my feet. "Now come … Its time we woke papa."


	2. Episode II

EPISODE II

We entered through the back-door and climbed up to the pantry. Soft yellow light beamed through the open windows, and the air smelt of cake and fresh biscuits. A counter had been pushed to the wall to make way for a rockingchair, and there was a stack of sealed letters on the table. Ned was standing above the papers with a cup of cider at his elbow, his pensive face a story without words. Ruth ran up to the old fellow and rapped her arms about him with love and affection. The good man winked back at me and proceeded to pour me a glass of water. I gratefully received the draft and gazed up at him in astonishment.

"I heard you two slide out the door about an hour ago and thought I'd feed you," he gently rasped. "Talking is hard work between new friends."

"Not as hard as living off of bark and wild honey," I warmly replied. "I needed time to clear my head and take a look around … Mullburrow was my choice."

"So you'll stay then," the old man murmured nibbling on a biscuit.

He shot a side-glance at Ruth who pretended not to notice. Ned was clearly amused. I shrugged and drained my glass.

"We best find you a job," the old man finally managed to say. "If you're going to build a new home, you need to know people, and the best way to do that is to make money. Tell me son, what are you good at?"

"Apart from marching and fighting we mean," Ruth grunted nudging me under the table. I nodded.

"The village guard doesn't seem to be all that busy," I pondered aloud. "So that wouldn't be a great choice … I'm terrible at dealing with money, and I can't mend a broken leg more than I can cook a three-course meal."

"That doesn't leave us with very much," Ruth laughed shaking her head. "What do they teach you up there in the North … To cook dead deer and kill petty lords … If you weren't a soldier, you would have starved to death."

"You did say you were a farmer," Ned interjected grinding his teeth. "But I can understand if you would want a change of pace. I could never put men to death like I used to … but there are some past skills which come in handy. Do you know how to string a bow?"

"Yes," I admitted remembering the cool forest about Winterfell. "My father brought me hunting many times. I was never good as my brothers, but I could kill game better than most … better than most lords I've met fighting South."

"Splendid," the old man exclaimed lifting his now empty cup. "That will do lad. There is a Hunter's Gild here you could join. You'd meet all sorts of folk there, and make more than a few friends so long as you kept out of trouble."

"The village huntsmen are very protective of their wives," Ruth explained with impish satisfaction. "A few lads joined the gild a few months ago and were caught sleeping with a member's young bride. Their hands were lopped off and fed to the wolves."

"That shouldn't be any trouble," I declared rolling my eyes. "I try to be an honest man."

"We all try," Ned stoically reflected. "Yet we all have our secrets …. Don't we Nathan?"

"Ai," I hurriedly mumbled. "A few …."

There was a knowing in the old man's gentle gaze that tore my heart. I knew what he wanted. He was attempting to puzzle out the truth. But I couldn't give it to him. Not yet. It wasn't that I didn't trust him. In actuality, I didn't trust myself. Talisa's blood still stained my conscience. Greywind's ghost still haunted my mind. What would the honorable Ned think if I told him the truth? What would Ruth think of me?

"I believe that's enough yammering for one morning," she snorted getting to her feet. "We will need to head off now if you want to catch the captain of the gild before he embarks on the hunt. Seven hells … Do you two ever shut up?"

"Never," the old man playfully grumbled briskly stacking the plates. "But I can see you're point. Now run or you'll lose Nathan a job. I can clean up for both of you."

"Are you sure?" I asked ambling toward the door. It wouldn't pay to appear rude.

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't be an old fart now," Ned half muttered pointing to the door. "Some of them are probably out there already. If you go, you'll find them …"

Sure enough, there were men in male on the road by the time we reached market. They were grim folk dressed in green and brown bearing bows longer than any I have ever seen. Their lords bore brighter shields and better gear, but were no older than their companions. The troop filed out the main-gate toward the forest a force to be reckoned with. A larger party of folk clad in fur coats and leather caps loitered about a tall wooden hall. This enormous house had four floors and stood a few feet from the village armory. One could only approach the gigantic structures by crossing a stone bridge built by the Night's Watch long ago. Statues of elk and deer glared from pillared columns loftier than the buttresses of the constable's court. The doors beyond spanned the length and width of the building and were stuffed with faces too numerous to count. Passing into the heart of the hall, there loomed the tallest elm tree I have ever clapped eyes upon. Its branches stretched out in all directions and hung over the hall like a banner of war. The elm's roots were confined to a basin of water that contained fish and turtles the huntsmen kept for pets. Stands were erected all about the pool overflowing with jackets and purses tailored from animal hide. There were shops and eateries burrowed into the very walls of the house, and in all of them were the decapitated heads of wild creatures culled from the wilderness. No words can describe my utter awe and amazement at gazing upon such a bounty. No trove east of the sea could boast such a collection. Ruth merely blushed and giggled at my ridiculous reactions.

"I don't know what to say," I marveled tenderly embracing her. "I could never have dreamed …"

"You could thank me you know," she pouted pretending to take offense. "There is more in this small village than in all the warring kingdoms."

"But who could have built such a center," I gasped frowning down at my hands. "I heard the Night's Watch helped construct works further South in the days before the mad king reigned."

"You forget Mullburrow has stood hidden in the forests for generations," she purred. "The Freys don't know what they have right under their very nose and none of the other lords. On the outside we look like a band of rustic farmers … But there were people here long before we came and they carved out the hills and dells. We merely constructed what we could on top of what they left behind."

"You mean the old ones," I sighed remembering Winterfell. "They held to the old Gods and were killed off by the newcomers."

"No," Ruth half whispered with excitement. "Not even they. Remember, those buggers never built anything bigger than a barrow. Whoever planted that tree and laid this marble floor was far more advanced. Chances are we'll never know."

"But I'm sure the Night's Watch added to this hall quit a lot, not to mention the bridge," I argued furrowing my brow. "I recognized the craftsmanship as soon as I got a closer look."

"Yes," she quietly said biting her lip. "That much is well known."

"You don't seem to be too fond of the Night's Watch," I laughed taking her hand. We strolled over to a bench and sat down beneath the shade of the great tree.

"I just don't understand how a man like that could be happy," she groaned shaking her head. "A man should have a wife if he wants one. Didn't that Winterfell bastard take up with those fools?"

"Yes," I tentatively said meeting her gaze. "John Snow always had great fondness for the wall."

"And didn't he ever long for a wife and children," she asked squeezing my hand. Her fingers were soft and smooth.

"I don't know," I frowned looking away. "He was a lord's bastard … I was just a soldier."

"Really," she giggled tugging me to my feet. "You seem to know a lot for just a soldier … far more than most."

"Now why would you think that," I snapped turning red. "I could have heard all that from a bowmen in the ranks … or a maid in the king's service … or …"

"I doubt," she smugly murmured. "But that's unimportant now. We've tarried long enough."

"Do you know where to go," I asked overwhelmed by the sheer size of the hall.

"If there's one thing you should know by now Nathan," she gibed, "It's that I know my way around."

Shrugging my shoulders, I resigned myself to her will. She guided me down a corridor and up a ramp furnished with ornate banisters. Red tapestries lined the passage, and there were yellow lamps along the way. At last we came to a mighty staircase engraved with many figures and astronomical markings. At their top was a solitary door bolted shut from the inside. The Sigel of a raven was etched into the wood, and there were other beasts figured there no tongue can describe.

Ruth barreled forward up the steps and knocked on the door three times. By this point we had strayed far from the main-hall and could hardly hear the throng of villagers we left behind. The chamber was almost silent now , and the lamplight seemed less bright. It was almost as though we had stepped into another kingdom- a realm of darkness and secrecy. At length, my companion beat harder on the entrance and called out in a loud voice.

"Come out Ulfric," she cried. "We know you're in there! Where is Captain Yoric! We need to speak with him …"

"Loitered in the hall I see," came a lad's voice from within. "He's out hunting … Go home and come back tomorrow."

"I don't believe you," she barked now kicking the door with all her might. "Beware Ulfric, or I'll report you."

"Oh you will now," the boy mumbled finally opening the door. He stood no taller than I did when I was about ten, and wore a miniature coat of male. On his head he wore a standard helm and wore a dagger at his side. In one glance, he was every bit the little warrior. I couldn't help but laugh.

"So the huntsmen model their ranks after the guard I see," I hysterically boomed. "Trust me kid … If you think killing men will get any easier think again. A deer only has antlers, but a man … well he has more than teeth, doesn't he?"

"Very well put," Ulfric boldly declared. "But if you challenge my honor again, I will have to."

"Oh just shut up son," a coarse voice interjected from somewhere inside. "You gave it your best shot."

The lad quickly hopped out of the way to make room for a tall man in his mid thirties. He had an eye patch and walked with a bad limp although both his legs appeared genuine. A long pale scar ran down his cheek, and on his belt hung a pair of long knives.

"What the hell do you want," he spat stumbling over to Ruth with almost bull-like ferocity. "This is my domain, my little realm. Do you know what happens to trespassers?"

"Oh no," she sarcastically replied feigning fear. "I can't help but tremble at your lordship's dominant majesty."

"You're father could crack a better joke than that," he sighed in a voice like gravel. "Tell me … Who is this man you bring with you? He doesn't look like anyone I've met before. What's his name?"

"Nathan," she smugly said. "Or at least, that is what he now calls himself. He was a soldier in Robb Stark's host before it was destroyed. Seeing as hunting is nothing knew to him, I brought him here to join the troop."

"Oh, why didn't you say so," he exclaimed lumbering over to me. "So long as you aren't a pain in the ass, we'd be willing to take you."

"I want the job," I firmly replied staring him down. "I'm here to work and kill some deer … not to mess around. I can assure you."

"Brilliant," the veteran warmly said shaking my hand. "You'll ride with my band tomorrow morning, crack of dawn if you can manage it. From there we'll see if you really know how to shoot."

"Trust me sir," I assured him with an impish grin. "I know what it is to hunt deer and wild bore."

"And your terms," he inquired gesturing to his eye patch. "It isn't easy work son; what's your price?"

"Gold," my companion immediately demanded. "He wants a percentage of the gild's profits along with the usual income …"

"What is this girl your spokesman," the huntsman jested fingering his knives. "Pretty … I have to admit, but very picky."

"I know what I want Yoric," I affirmed peering back at Ruth. "I know you do also."

"I bet," he rasped lighting a cigar. "I bet."

"Deal sealed then," I muttered. "Hand me the gear and we'll begin signing the papers."

"And must your poster-woman join you?" Yoric grunted. "No … No don't tell me. Just follow me."

"See Nathan," Ruth triumphantly said. "There is such thing as a good deal."

"Thank goodness," I replied following her into the office. "I hate lousy bargains."

The room smelt of cheap wine and ale. Maps and charts coated the walls, and there was a hot red hearth in the corner. Above the embers hung a stuffed deer head with its eyes poked out. They had been replaced by glass orbs for decoration and gleamed in the firelight. Yoric sat clumsily down at a low wicker table and gazed up at the dead thing with primal admiration.

"Isn't he beautiful," he remarked in an almost reverential tone. "Had to send the hounds on him nine times before."

"You know he won," my companion scowled with obvious contempt. "Seven hells … Boys and their toys."

"What do you mean," I asked turning to her in surprise. "Didn't he kill the bugger?"

"Yes …" she admitted squinting at Yoric's eye patch. "But the dead don't feel pain. Only the living do."

"That's a rather bleak way of putting it," the huntsman grunted shuffling uncomfortably in his seat. "If you're so high and mighty why haven't you joined us on the kill?"

"Maybe because I don't feel like hacking animals to pieces is fun," she retorted. "Unlike some people …"

"Then why did you bring your dear friend to sign up?" the captain snickered reaching for a pint of beer on the table. "Or was it his idea?"

"Why, that's no mystery," she laughed shaking her head. "I thought I'd actually bring a real man to the hunt, rather than one of those little boys you round up on weekends,"

At this Ulfric, who had been minding his own business by the door, opened his mouth to speak. Ruth shot him one dark glance and the lad went flying from the room without a word.

"You have some way with people," I commented smiling in her direction.

"Works every time," she replied unmistakably satisfied.

"Which reminds me," I murmured turning to Yoric, "Why weren't you at the hunt? A captain must always follow his men into battle. Why should it be different for any kind of chieftain?"

"To meet you," the huntsman slyly said staring me in the eye. His gaze was cool and unwavering. I shuttered.

"What do you mean?" Ruth asked gripping what could only have been a concealed knife in her coat pocket.

"News came up the highway yesterday," the huntsman explained without breaking his stare. "Old Ned had a guest from the Frey-Country … Probably a sell-sword or renegade. And here you are at my doorstep looking for the only job a fugitive can hold …"

"So what?" I barked grinding my teeth. "You get a lot of deserters don't you?"

"Well I was up in the North-Country after the slaughter," he interjected taking a swig from his pint. "Bodies all over the place … I had to take a peak … And weren't the Starks great hunters? Who knows … Maybe as good as you. Come to think of it, didn't the Stark boy die some while ago? What a pity they trapped him so soundly … Although even that is hard for me to believe. Surely his mother would have hatched some kind of escape plan- Don't you think?"

"I see what you mean," I darkly answered taking a step forward. "So tell me my lord, what do you want?"

"Nothing," Yoric laughed lifting his pint. "I just want to help."

"Splendid," Ruth sighed continuing to glare down at the wild fellow. "Just what we needed, another troublemaker."

But I could tell by the tone of the huntsman's voice and the way he grinned up at me, I was in good hands. My contract, such as it was, turned out to be no more than a stained dish-rag with a few words scribbled on the front. I signed the fragile document and proceeded to partake of my new friends' better ale. The cup which I drank from was made of tin and had been only recently washed. I swallowed the draft bracing myself for the worst, but found I rather enjoyed the rustic brew.

"By all the Gods," I barked putting down my cup. "Mullburrow never ceases to amaze. I don't think there's one spot on earth more full of scoundrels and secrets than this hollow."

"You can say that again," the captain bellowed, clearly a tad more tipsy than usual. "You know, we made a rather interesting find a few days ago."

"O really," Ruth chuckled clenching her fists. "Let me guess … A new recipe for Sheppard's Pie?"

"Well, that too," Yoric relented getting up out of his chair. "It will be Nathan's little present if I can find the damned thing."

The huntsman nearly stumbled over his own feet by the time he found what he was looking for. At first it looked like a tall bundle covered in a thick brown cloth.

"We came across a barrow in the forest," the captain grumbled handing me the bundle. "The bones were sullied and burnt. All the gold and jewels had been looted … But we found this!"

I unraveled the cords that bound the package together and uncovered what lay beneath. It was a spectacular sword, the likes of which I have never seen before. The pommel was made of wood and bore markings too dim to read. Many of them had been scratched out by battle and the ravages of time. The blade was still remarkably sharp and shown brightly in the light of the hearth. Looking on that ancient blade made me almost miss the thrill and peril of war. I sheathed the weapon in the old leather wrap I had been provided and laid it soundly on the table with awe and pride.

"Welcome to The Gild son," the huntsman warmly declared refilling my cup. "Drink up … You're grumpier when you're sober."


	3. Episode III

EPISODE III

Dawn came dim and dreary. A heavy rain had pounded the vale throughout the night, and had felled many trees along the wayside. None of the homesteads or halls were damaged in the gale, but the roads were a muddy mess. Only the huntsmen dared the dark reaches of the sleepless wood. They clambered about the village gate clad in fine male and dun raiment like wraiths before the face of hell. Thunder rumbled in the mountains, and the sun hardly broke through the brooding shadow. Not one man was moved. The light of their pikes and heraldry seemed to glisten like a throng of stars through the gloom. A shrill horn was blown about the head of the host, and the first ranks of the huntsmen rode wildly from the gate. Hoofbeats and piercing war-cries clove the air, and the rest of the vanguard followed on foot. The great hunt of Mullburrow had begun. Another man might have gaped in awe at the passing of the grey host. But I had seen too many battles to feel the admiration in Yoric's eyes. The master huntsman loitered beneath a tent stocked with spare hauberks and cheap arrows purchased from the armory. Ulfric sat on an aged stump nearby nibbling an apple. He gave me a dirty look and scrambled off sulking. My good captain burst out laughing.

"Making new friends again Nathan," he whooped shaking his head. "Hope the bugger doesn't trip you on the way back home. We have a long march today. What did you think of the charge?"

"Reminded me of the war," I honestly replied forcing a rigid smile. "The village watch has nothing on you … Seven hells, you might as well be Mullburrow's guard."

"I see," Yoric mumbled gripping his hunting knives. There was a sympathy in his voice, I hadn't heard before. "My father was a deserter," he grunted half to himself. "The mad king was too much for him. He ran here and was good friends with that old man you know. Within six months the village had weapons and men to wield them."

"Where is he now," I tentatively asked although a part of me already knew.

"My father once had a saying that I'm still rather fond of," the huntsman muttered cracking an impish grin. "Death is a question best left unanswered."

"Why is that," I interjected a tad cross.

"You might not want to know the ending," he snorted clapping me on the back. "I told you, we're a wild bunch."

"That's alright though," I coolly chuckled gesturing to my new sword. "I am too."

"You don't say," Yoric murmured pointing to a pile of bows culled for the captain's use. "I look forward to seeing you take down an elk. We need a man like you."

"It's been awhile," I sighed gazing off into the wood. The forest seemed bleak and ominous in the half light. "Between last night's ale and Ruth's shopping, it's remarkable I'm still standing."

"If that's the case, you haven't seen nothing yet," he huffed clearly amused. "I have better ale than that my friend … and as for Ruth …"

"What is it between you two," I warmly grumbled. "What did she dump you or something?"

"Hell no," Yoric indignantly denied flushing harder than Ulfric. "We would probably gnaw each other with words until we dropped. No … It's politics."

"What do you mean?" I inquired furrowing my brow. "She didn't say anything to me."

"It's not all that important," the huntsman claimed scratching his head ... "But it gets under my skin. My father helped reform the Gild by bringing food to the people in a more orderly way. I thought I'd extend the other businesses he helped create. The village armory was expanded, and the hall's shops were refitted to carry clothing for ordinary folk. Your sweetheart feels we should stop producing trinkets and put more effort into reinforcing the village watch. Nobody guards the gate by day, and everybody's too drunk at night to care."

"Well doesn't she have a point," I remarked smiling ruefully back at the gild's affluent hall. "You are doing fairly well for yourselves. Wouldn't you want to lend a hand?"

"You're already bewitched aren't you," my friend promptly argued. "If we funnel money into the village watch, we would have a rival gild to compete with. The watchmen would build their own shops and armory. Seven hells … We might even have to lower prices."

"Gods forbid," I chuckled finding the whole dispute ridiculous. But something stronger than fate warned me that Ruth was correct. There were more than birds and beasts in the wilderness and the land beyond.

We left the pitched tent almost as soon as we were done talking. I slung a bow across my back and filled my quiver with enough shafts to kill forty deer on a bad day. The path was well tended for about a mile or so ere abruptly ending at a crossroads. The way ahead was narrower and riddled with jagged rocks. A pile of mossy boulders marked the intersection and bore markings too worn to read. A dog's skull had been planted on a rusted pike, and there were flies everywhere. The place stank of dead leaves and rotting wood. Half our company departed for the Western road without a word. Ulfric attended this host along with three or four other lads. None looked back. Only their muffled footfalls broke the watchful silence. Yoric wasn't amused. He hobbled up the clump of boulders and scowled down at the younger folk as they marched passed.

"They don't want to stray too far from the village," he snarled baring his teeth. "The cowards. But there is better game where we're going."

"And where might that be?" I growled already wearying of the hunt. A feeling not unlike doom was warning me. Peril was only a few leagues away.

Yoric wouldn't answer. He simply began ambling along the Northern trail, and the rest of the host hurried to join him. I gave the ancient pike and skull one last look, and unsheathed my sword. For good or ill, there was no turning back.

We didn't have to wait long before we stumbled across a deer. A stream churned beside the road and was shallow enough to explore without too much trouble. The decaying remains of a bridge limply lay on either shore, and there was even an abandoned boat capsized nearby. We spotted our pray drinking from the stream only a few yards away. The poor creature had already been wounded many times and bore a large gash on his side. But Yoric didn't care. He loosed his arrow in a heartbeat and cried out in a loud voice. The deer retreated a few paces and fled into the underbrush, staining the grass as he went. I let my shaft fall to the earth and leapt after, not daring to lag behind. Nobody would go searching for me.

I scrambled through the tangled weeds and vines half expecting to fall flat on my face. But good luck warded me from most of the prickling branches and thorns. It was then I saw the barrow.

The rocky slope reared taller than the trees and was surrounded by a ring of stones. An entrance, darker than the shade of the wood, was delved into the heart of the mound and descended deep into the earth. Our pray lay dead at the mouth of the passage and was drenched in blood. An ominous silence seemed to echo from the gruesome place like the breath of doom. Nobody stirred. We were far from the trail and still a distance from the hill. All eyes turned to Yoric choked with fear.

"Fuck the deer," he spat striding ahead. "We have enough of those … What we need is gold. Whoever built that tomb must have been either really important or very rich. Gods willing nobody's touched it … We should make a fine profit."

"Isn't that nice," I grumbled gripping my sword's hilt. "What are we, grave robbers now?"

"Oh don't be so hasty," the huntsman bellowed. "The man's dead. He has no use for coins and hauberks."

"If you say so," I reluctantly relented peering uneasily into the barrow. Nobody else was bickering. I kept my mouth shut and followed the others to the foot of the mound.

The sentinel stones were much larger than they had appeared from afar. They crowded neatly around the mound like watchmen at their post, warding the memory of yesteryear from the world outside. But fire and the ravages of time had touched the nameless monoliths, so that only the patient trees recalled their history.

I left the sad hollow and entered the long dark of the barrow. The fallen deer had crumpled to the ground at the threshold. His dead eyes seemed to stare up at Yoric with a hatred stronger than words. My good captain hardly gave the beast a second glance. One by one we filed into the hall and departed for the chamber below. The pale light of day faded into nothingness until all was pitch black. Somebody lit a torch, and we continued on our way down a narrow flight of steps. Other rooms and shelves opened up on either side, blacker than the crypts of Winterfell. But none dared fair into those hidden places. One false step and all of us could be lost for days beneath the fastness of the hill.

At length the air grew mustier, and the flickering light of the torch began to wane. A tense minute passed, and Yoric halted to catch his breath. I'm confident we would have turned home then if it hadn't been for the damn torch. A huntsman called out and excitedly pointed out an archway about a hundred steps down from where we stood. We could all see it … the glint of metal in the shadows sparkling like a dying star.

Five huntsmen bolted down the steps and leapt into the hall beyond. Our captain led the rest of us to join them. I was the last to enter the chamber, and probably the most surprised. The room was full of bones. Twelve great tables were lined up in a circle around an idol. On each table was set an adult skeleton clad for war. Hideous skulls glowered up at us from their eternal rest, as though mocking our folly. There was no gold or jewels left. None of the battle gear had been touched, but the pile of riches that had been piled about the idol was gone. Only a few chains and rings remained strewn across the floor shaped from cheap steel and bronze. But that wasn't the most astonishing part of the find. A tunnel had been hewn into the back wall of the tomb, and lying in the entrance was a bent shield. Everybody could see the Sigel, and nobody was pleased.

"Fucking Lannisters," Yoric snarled nearly kicking the shield down the passage. "And by the looks of it, rather recently."

"Why do you say that," I sighed rolling my eyes. The last thing I needed was more trouble with the Lannisters.

"The rest of the armor around here's rusted and covered in dust," he explained rummaging about the dead. "Still looks damn shiny in places … But not worth a Frey. This shield here could have been dropped yesterday … And you know what that means Nathan."

"You can't be serious," I complained turning to the other huntsmen for support. "First we're grave robbers and now we're The Night's Watch …"

"Nah," the captain chuckled. "I like women too much to take any crazy oaths. Besides Nathan, think of it as one big hunting expedition. We're just hunting Lannisters."

"It's hard arguing with that logic," I mumbled seeing there was no way changing anybody's mind. A part of me didn't want to.

The tunnel was small and riddled with debris. Heaps of charcoal and chipped rock filled the passage. Notched blades and other abandoned gear were carelessly dumped along the rout. Our pray had been in a rush and had not bothered to clean up after themselves. We jogged for almost two hours before we found the exit. A flood of blinding day light poured into the crammed passage and burnt our eyes. Yoric stumbled on a jutting rock and fell onto his back panting like a dog. More than half of us carried on ahead before stopping dead in their tracks. We weren't alone.

Outside was a worn and well-trod trail occupied by more than twenty men on horse and foot. All of them bore the Lion crest of their house and had pitched tent nigh the edge of the road. We were fortunately too far down the tunnel for them to notice us without approaching the threshold. But their glittering coats of male and helms were easy to descry in the fading light. Noon was almost over and the sun was already slipping behind the hills. Dusk was fast approaching. An elderly chap pulled a cart from a thicket where it had been hid. Sure enough it was loaded with coins and gilded idols. Our captain peered down at his hunting knives, but wouldn't budge an inch. Another host was hurrying up the green way. They were all mounted and carried their lord's banner. My heart sank within me. They were Lord Walder's men. Hatred keener than a thousand spears cascaded through me. Nothing could quench the fire that gnawed my brain. It was then I saw the corpses. The first was impaled by a pike thrust through an open cart. The man's head had been lopped off and replaced with the rotting skull of a wolf. There was no mistaking the man or his knew face. His crown had been my own. The cart rolled up the trail and was swallowed up by the Wilderness. The man driving the second cart jeered and spat on the body he was carrying. As the gruesome cargo drew closer, my heart stopped. It was her … They had cut out our unborn child and had drenched her in tar. I could see the gashes that had stolen her from me and the fear still etched in her lifeless face. Those loving eyes that had once watched me with tender care now gazed blankly into nothingness. She was oblivion, and I was fury. The tears that stung my cheeks could not fill the emptiness that Walder Frey had won. The dreams that plagued my mind could not hide the dreadful truth death had captured. Talisa was gone, and the world I had known had perished with her. There was only one thing I could do … I gave my captain one last mournful look, and unsheathed my sword.

Yoric lunged to pin me down, but it was too late. I was in motion. A Lannister guard spotted me and sounded the alarm. Arrows flew from all directions and lodged themselves in the wooden cart. Huntsmen leapt from the darkness like ghosts born upon a hellish breeze. Not one of the robbers escaped to tell of the hidden barrow. The trove of gold and jewels fell toppling onto the stained grass. Nobody paid the trove any heed and they grappled wildly on the road like madmen. My good captain rammed his head into a Lannister's face before tackling him to the muddy earth. The entire Frey vanguard was felled likewise attempting to flee the field. I wasted no time in reaching the cart. My wife was encircled by four footmen and a lord on horseback. A feathered shaft brushed my shoulder and tore my skin. Howling I threw the bowman to the ground and clove his coat of male. The blade pierced the unlucky fellow and left me vulnerable to the horseman's onslaught. My helm was struck off by a passing blow, and I was knocked backward a few feet. Yoric plowed through the press of men and slew the footmen who were approaching the place where I lay. The crazed huntsman winked at me with his remaining eye and tossed me the sword he had given me. I nodded. There was still the mounted knight to deal with.

The horseman attempted to decapitate me with his broad sword and ended up leaning too far from his steed. I hurled myself forward and slit the horse's throat. The beast bucked and cast his rider off before pitifully crumpling onto the trail. A plume of dust arose where the beast fell. The rider coolly got to his feet and grimaced down at me in a face that was horridly recognizable.

"I knew I'd find you someday," Ramsay Bolton calmly said advancing on my position.

I raised my blade to ward myself from his assault, but was too slow. Bolton's sword struck my chest and brought me to my knees. The wicked fiend gloated greedily over me savoring the kill to come, his lips curled in a grotesque mockery of a smile. A torrent of blood oozed down my hauberk and onto the worn earth. Talisa's voice called to me from across the void, pleading with me to act … to do something. But my limbs felt heavier than lead from the day's fighting, and there was no way to retreat. Ramsay swung his blade to Cleve me asunder, his boot heals mere inches from my face. Yet fate intervened. For low, even as I sagged in agony before the gates of hell, an arrow flung from afar struck Ramsay where he stood. The shaft pierced his back and stuck firmly in his flesh. Screaming in terror he turned away from me, feebly scrambling to find his fallen blade. It didn't do him any good.

With my remaining strength I pulled myself up to my full height and said in a voice only he could hear, "Robb Stark sends his regards."

With that my sword plummeted into the fiend's chest and stole the life that had caused me so much pain. A great sigh escaped the man's dreadful lips before descending to death's dream kingdom. The last thing I saw before darkness took me was Talisa's triumphant face grinning down at me from across eternity. For the first time since the red wedding, I had won.


	4. Episode IV

EPISODE IV

I awoke alone in my bedroom with my back to the door. Golden light poured through onto the clean linen and all about me were pillows and warm blankets. A great quilt had been wrapped around my chest and I could feel a dull pain where Ramsay's sword had cut the soft flesh. A flood of horrors came roaring back to me like a sea of agony. Talisa's gruesome figure tortured my mind and kept my eyes fixed open. Too much blood had been spilt for sleeping. There was no choice but to keep the nightmare of death away. I shuttered and peered pensively at the garden. The bright flowers had wilted, but the sky was clear and blue. Only the cracked and beaten tree bore the marks of the storm. The hollow was riddled with twigs and pealed bark. A lad, probably Ulfric, was cleaning the fields, but had just scurried away. It was then I heard footsteps on the wooden floor as though in hesitation. Sure enough, it was Ruth carrying a tray of cakes. I turned my head and grinned up at her, tenderly sharing the moment while it lasted. She briskly put down the tray and hurriedly embraced me with an understanding that few men ever get the chance to know. We laughed and wept gladly together, tangled up in a hectic world. We had bourn the long night and were relieved by the fruitful courage of the day. At last, there was peace.

"How long have I been out," I yawned scratching my head. "Everything seems to fade somehow."

"They found you on the road and I tended you here for about a day," she calmly explained beaming with confidence. "Your wound has all but healed, and you should be able to walk. All the village is in a uproar. They say you killed the butcher … Ramsay Bolton in single combat. You've gained some reputation among the Huntsmen Nathan."

"Now, isn't that a relief," I grunted with obvious amusement. "Not bad for my first hunt … Although I'd rather not talk about it … not yet. There's just too much memory, and it's the memory that kills."

"I'm here," she affirmed tugging on my shirt-sleeve. "There's no need to fuss."

"I know," I honestly replied squeezing her hand. Apart of me wanted to tell her everything … About the shadow of the tomb, and Talisa's lifeless stare, but her soothing smile banished any thoughts of war and bloodshed.

"I made this quilt," she commented poking at the cloth wrapped around my chest. The elegant images were embroidered into the cunning blanket. I nodded, not knowing what else to do.

"My father helped me," she went on tracing the needlework with her words. "Took us almost a year. We worked on and off to try and make it … to forget my mother's death. Each stitch means something. You begin with a single thread until you've created something beautiful, something deeper than the memory. Do you know what I mean Nathan?"

"I do," I mumbled furrowing my brow. "The day I learned my father died, I put my rage into killing Lannisters … But that didn't create anything. I just ended up getting more of my kin killed."

"But you were trying to make something from your loss," she knowingly asked. "Death serves only the dead, Nathan."

"I was going to build a new world for myself and my family," I argued slinking back into despair. "Every Lannister. Every stitch. Now where are they? Laughing and drinking while my father sleeps. I couldn't even keep my wife from the fire!"

"Who was she?" Ruth pressed looking me with honest concern.

"Someone very much like you," I replied feeling her kindness cool my mourning spirit.

"In what way?" she inquired leaning closer as though my words would evaporate like smoke. "I want to know."

"I see the same strength in your eyes," I admitted peering down at the floor. "I can't explain it if I wanted to."

"Come," she prompted after a pause. "There is something I think you should see."

"You mean at market," I groaned sliding into my boots. My legs felt hard and stiff in the threshold. Ruth sadly smiled and shook her head.

"No," she declared passing me a fresh tunic. "Down in the fields … not far from the other barrows."

"Great," I grumbled wincing down at her. "More tombs … just what I needed."

"Not the way you're thinking," she kindly interjected nudging me toward the door. "I wouldn't put you through that again. You'll see."

At another time and place I might have argued with her. She had cleaned my clothes and had watched over me in my aching unconsciousness for hours. We both needed a break. But there was an insistence in her touch that drew away the pain and bewilderment. We entered the old garden and left the quaint house behind. My guide had grabbed a piece of cake that she nibbled on surveying the slope toward the valley. But she didn't tarry long. Before us lay the vast countryside consumed by lads and lasses at work. Plows and wagons marked the few roads that broke the green distance. Yet for the most part, the land was wide and unobstructed by progress. The farms and huts that riddled the vale were small and often fitted with thatched roofs. Brick walls and stone fences only occupied the fields near the village-square and marketplace. There was no way down to the barrows from the gate or the county halls. The grey mounds were clumped together on a ridge not far from the outermost fens of the forest and were beleaguered by low stone pillars. Each standing rock was finely engraved by markings and sigils far more intricate than anything I had seen before. We approached the aged graves and loitered at the foot of a low brown hill. There was a sadness about the place deeper than anything I had encountered in the wood. The darkness didn't breed fear but unending grief, more palpable than a realm of tears. Blood had been spilt and the memory of death hung heavily in the air. Fog still curled about the heights of the mount and where the sun shown, bland shadows stained the sullen earth. No bird sang or flew above the sleeping grove.

"Only by confronting our loss can we hope to gain from our sufferings," Ruth quietly purred climbing the lifeless slope. "At least, that is what my mother told me …"

"She's buried here?" I timidly asked following her toward the peak of the mound. "You seem to know where you're going."

"Yes," she replied halting toward the top. "She's here … The man I call father helped raise this hill to cover the dreams he'd left behind. We visited this spot the night we found you."

"Who was she," I marveled recognizing the importance of the hollow. "Did you know her?"

"I did," she softly answered as though in great concentration. "I can still remember the way we huddled around the fire at dusk and read from the books she borrowed from the traveling peddlers. She never told me what she did during the day. She would go to a big red house across the road with no windows. I'd sit for hours just pretending, dreaming away my life. There was no way I could have known … I never met the man who paid our rent. But I knew he met with her at the red house before heading off to work … Nobody told me, but somehow I knew he was my father. One day my mother came home early, very upset. She tore her hair and was covered in dirt and blood. There was a crazed look in her eyes that told me nothing would ever be the same again. A month went by and I hardly saw her between what meager meals we could scavenge off the street. Our neighbors mocked us. Our friends deserted us. And my mother fell from lord's mistress to common hoar."

"Dear Gods," I whispered, unable to find words to quell the anguish in Ruth's voice. "But then … How did you end up here?"

"My real father had many enemies," Ruth sighed, staring back at the house we had departed. "Ned was one of them … although he wasn't Ned then. My mother was attempting to break into a bakery when the owner caught her in the act. She was dragged to the king's court and was given to Ned to do with as he wished. To escape my real father's terror, he ran from the Iron Throne, intent on building a new life. But we were waylaid on the road not far from Frey lands. They hunted us like chattel and pinned her to a tree. By the time we returned from hiding it was too late. She had bled to death. Her hands still clutched the spear that was thrust through her waste. There was nothing I could do except live. I think you can relate, Nathan. But there was something that drove me on … that kept me breathing."

"And what was that?" I marveled feeling the weight of her words in me. There was a power in her melancholy deeper than the gulf of years that shook my very soul.

"You already know the answer," she laughed, and her merriment was like the rush of clear water in parched places. "Doesn't the land speak for herself?"

"Mullburrow," I stammered finding new meaning in the name. "You mean the village …"

"Not just any village," she tenderly replied. "I'm talking about home."

And for the first time since I clapped eyes on her, I understood. The truth resonated in her smile. There could be no going back. Winterfell was no more and the shadow of war had overtaken the North. But there was a day through the clouds that dwelt with Mullburrow. There was a home nestled between the mountains and hidden glades worth bleeding for, no matter what the cost might be. It was time to move on.

It was then Ulfric came barreling toward us clad in male. At his back dangled a bright shield bearing his lord's crest, and at his side hung a short sword. The blade was sheathed in a fine scabbard, and was apparently a gift from Yoric for participating in the hunt. Ruth was not amused.

"What do you want," she snapped, stumbling down the dank slope. "The lord Nathan is weary from his duties and requires time to gather his wits. Or do you forget he almost perished on The King's Road."

"I do not deny it," the page gruffly said, quelling his discontent. "But I was sent to fetch Nathan on Gild Business."

"What kind of business," she grumbled certainly cross.

"None of yours," the lad affirmed bobbing up and down like the child he was. "Yoric sent for him. They have much to discuss."

"Oh, wonderful," I groaned squinted down at the page. "Just what I needed: more bickering."

"Well, there's no use fighting it," Ruth playfully relented. "He is your boss. Just try to come home in one piece."

"I'll try," I chuckled following Ulfric down the barrow. But deep in my heart I knew that trouble was around the corner.

We left the grey mounds in a hurry until we came to the cobbled streets of the village. The front gate was opened and all the shops were busy with activity. There were women selling their baskets and watchmen drinking away their dreams at the pub. A thug, carrying a great hammer, was entertaining children by smashing rocks to pieces and juggling the parts for fun. There was even a swordsman out sparring with a troop of actors on a low wooden stage. The man's booming voice shook the packed streets like thunder in the mountains. All of this would have appeared relatively normal if it hadn't been for the throng of huntsmen warding the Gild's hall. No less than twelve men stood at attention on either side of the bridge warding the throng of peddlers and highwaymen who filed passed. Not one appeared pleased with his post.

"The hall is on high alert since the Lannisters were dealt with," Ulfric explained barreling through the crowd. "Yoric is intent on assuring everybody of their safety."

"And he really thinks shoving more men at arms into the picture is going to solve things," I sighed furrowing my brow. "Lovely," I choked.

Despite my comments, the villagers seemed at ease. Almost a hundred years had passed since anything really important had happened in the green wood. Time dragged on and internal affairs attracted more notice. To the average farmer, the events on the road were no more than a bad rumor. None of them had the slightest concern. None of them were prepared...

We found Lord Yoric in his study reviewing maps and papers with an empty pitcher at his elbow. A full case of good beer was at his feet, and at his side hung his familiar set of knives.

"You finally decided to show up!" he cried lumbering to his feet. "Come Nathan … have a drink. And you, Ulfric, can send word to the marshals to get their act together. I want more ale for our guests! No more of this cheap shit. Tastes like Lannister blood on a bad day!"

"Yes sir!" the page enthusiastically declared, bowing to his lord.

"Now, that's a good lad," he muttered shutting the door. "Would have been a damn help picking off those Lannisters yesterday."

"What did you do with the bodies?" I timidly asked peering up at the stuffed head mounted on his wall. "Ruth didn't mention what you did with them."

"How is your darling doing?" he chuckled pouring me a cup of ale. "Come on! Drink up or you'll think better of it."

"What do you think?" I grunted sipping the cool draft. "Pushed me out of bed and took me to her mother's grave."

"Isn't that nice," Yoric comically bellowed, winking back at me with his remaining eye. "Haven't you had enough of crypts and tombs?"

"Talk about it," I said biting my lip. "But I would like to know what happened to Talisa's bones …"

"Oh," my captain remarked pretending to be surprised. "And what about your lord's?"

"His too," I hastily added feeling my chest tighten in dismay.

"I can connect the dots better than anybody else," he snorted reaching for a loaf of bread he had left out on the table. We sat across from each other nearest to the fire. The red embers fed my growing concern.

"I would prefer if you kept that to yourself," I growled peering down at the floor.

"Trust me," Yoric insisted clapping me on the shoulder. "I don't care who the hell you are … I just want you to live."

"I did what I thought was right," I declared drawing myself up to my full height. "They were defiling her …"

"No, you were blood-drunk," he sighed gritting his teeth. "There is a difference."

"But what about the gold," I added recalling the empty tomb. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Don't get me wrong," the master huntsman said leaning back in his chair. "I love money and killing fucking Lannisters. Killing the Frey bastards was also a nice treat. But I can't always do what I want, can I? Not so far from here, I'm sure there's a thousand angry bastards trying to figure out who stole their money. Personally, I'd like to bash their heads in and piss on them one by one. But if I did that, I'd get all my men killed before I could call for help."

"So should I have let them go?!" I snapped tasting the fullness of my grief.

"Maybe," my captain said getting to his feet. "A time will come when you will have to decide for yourself. All I can tell you is that the needs of the many should come before the needs of the few ... even if it means sparing some fucking Lannisters."

"Where are you going?" I stammered meaning to follow him. "I can still draw a bow."

"Not if you fall off your horse," my captain argued unlocking the door. "I'm riding with fifty men down the green way to find more game. I'm not about to put an injured man into the field."

"You know who I am," I darkly said, staring him down. "You know I've encountered far worse."

"That's no longer for you to decide," he retorted turning to go. "There are no kings in Mullburrow."

"You still haven't answered my question," I exhaled rising from my chair. "Where is she? What have you done with her?"

At this point, I expected Yoric to storm out of the room like the madman he was. But something held him in place more potent than all the arguments we could muster. Regret gnawed his resolve to dust and condemned him to inaction. I met his piercing gaze and knew he only had bad news.

"We burnt them," he admitted after a while. "We burnt them all. Both the carts were wrecked and we were far from home. Somebody found you among the wreckage and dragged you to the side of the road. You were bleeding bad and would have died if we carried any longer. Nobody wanted to leave her, but if we didn't … well, I wouldn't be talking with you now. We found a river nearby and knew what we had to do. Somebody lit a fire and … we let them go. I'm sorry Robb … I know what she meant to you."

I didn't know who I hated more, Yoric or myself. I searched for my voice in my throat.

"But that's where you're wrong," I lamented overcome by dismay. "You don't, Yoric. Nobody can know."

With that the master huntsman solemnly nodded and turned to go. The shadow of the great stairwell beyond loomed before him like the jaws of death. But nothing broke his stride. When he had reached the first step, he shot me one last glance and was swallowed up by the night. That was the last time I ever saw him alive and well.


	5. Episode V

EPISODE V

I was already home by dusk when Ruth sat down for supper. She had helped carry a sack of barley from a neighboring farm to market and was limp with exhaustion. Ned sat idly by, nibbling a cake and reading from a thick manuscript he had wrote some years ago. The pictures and charts he had drawn seemed to dance before my eyes in the candlelight. It was late, and the hearth was burning. The last rays of the setting sun had fallen sullenly into shadow, and almost nobody was at market. Red lanterns kindled the wayside and the green lands beyond were veiled in mist. Ned put down his book and calmly lit his pipe, gazing through the gloom as though searching for something far away.

"You can't see her tonight papa," Ruth kindly said. "There's too much fog to see the mound."

"She took you there today, didn't she?" he grunted, leaning back in his ornate rockingchair.

"Ai," I replied, shrugging my shoulders, "only for a little while though."

"Gild business is a bloody mess," the old man snorted, winking down at me. "When I came here there was nothing but the market and the farmer's gild. That blacksmith rubbish took longer to sort out. Nearly bankrupt the village to refurbish those pretty halls. But there are secrets here only the land keeps."

"Ruth told me you were in Kingslanding some years ago," I uncomfortably said, biting my lip. "Did you know the mad king?"

"Yes," the old man rasped nodding mournfully to himself. "He was a bitter man. It was a good thing Jamie Lannister killed the bugger when he did."

"But Jamie broke his oaths," I argued, feeling my heart burn within me. "He broke his word."

"And so did the young wolf I believe," Ned cunningly answered. "And at what cost …?"

"Jamie broke his oaths to save his life," I firmly replied, a tad cross. "Robb broke his oaths for love."

"And what is love?" the old man inquired, furrowing his brow. "Is it wrong to love your life? And besides, Jamie did not kill merely to escape death."

"What do you mean?" I incredulously mumbled.

"The mad king had a terrible weapon. One that he plotted to unleash on his enemies," Ned recalled, shoving his pipe back into the inner pocket of his coat. "A fire that would have murdered hundreds of innocent lives and condemned Kingslanding to dust. If Jamie hadn't killed his lord, the city would now be a berg of ghosts."

"But that still doesn't absolve him from his crimes," I argued, still marveling at the old man's tale. "He crippled the young wolf's brother while attempting to murder him."

"Yes," Ruth interjected, her voice rich with sympathy. "There is enough blame to go around. But that is not for us to decide."

"Then what is?" I stammered overwhelmed by her truth.

"How to live," Ned tenderly said. "That's all you can choose. Honestly, I like to drink and help people. Others, like Walder, choose betray and kill. But that is for them to sort out. All I can do is keep on living and try not to die."

I nodded and returned silently to my meal, but deep in my heart, I knew he was right. War had proven its point a million times over and abolished my pride. Talisa's blood had sealed my confidence. There was no road to Winterfell, and no dream to kneel before … Only Mullburrow stood on the ashes of my former life.

It was then we heard the sound of hoofbeats outside. At first, it was no more than a faint rumbling-hardly audible over the moaning wind. But as the tense minutes flew by, the eerie call reached a feverish pitch. We heard the village gate snap and the tortured cries of man and beast mingled in a horror unlike anything I had experienced. Forty horses ran from the haunted fens of the forest into the light of the marketplace outside. Yet, these steeds were cast alight with some hellish fire that drove them mad. Blood oozed and steamed from their cracked bodies and dripped onto the dank earth. Bone and flesh evaporated in a spectacle of unknown carnage, thrice more grotesque than anything I had witnessed on the battlefield. At last, each beast crumpled to the ground and belched forth their entrails as a full host of men in male emerged from the eves of the wood. The fiendish bastards had set the poor animals on fire before unleashing their assault. As designed, the infernal charge had left the folk of the berg stricken with bottomless dread and commotion. Nobody could mistake the golden armor of the oncoming foe. They were Lannisters.

"They wouldn't kill their own horses like that," Ruth shakily commented, cringing in her chair. "Those must have belonged to the huntsmen."

"Yoric left with a party of horsemen," I exclaimed bitterly to myself. "That would mean …"

Panic struck me like a sword and I sunk dismally in defeat. Ruth leapt to her feet and scrambled from the pantry, bent on action. But Ned didn't budge an inch. He just sat there calmly surveying the situation like a game of chess. At length, he sighed and shot Ruth a knowing glance. She frowned and darted downstairs in a hurry, knocking over paintings and shelves as she went.

"We've been too lucky for too long," he remarked looking me in the eye. His composure remained unhindered. "We're both renegades son … They were bound to find us. Quite frankly, I was wondering what was taking the nasty buggers so long."

"But," I muttered gaping in bewilderment.

"No buts!" the old man sternly said, flashing me an impish grin. "You're not done killing Lannisters yet."

My sword was propped up against the wall with my helm. I sheathed the blade at my side at once and placed the steel cap on my head. There wasn't enough time to find my hauberk or hunting knives. Ruth was standing near my bedside kneeling over a brass box. She seemed to handle it with some care and handed it to Ned. The old man reverently nodded and began fiddling with the latch. I had seen the container leaning up against the door the day after I had arrived in Mullburrow, but I had never thought anything would come of the complicated thing.

After Ned pried the box open, a large brown stone tumbled onto the wooden floor. It was fairly round and bore no scratch or sign of age. Yet somehow, I knew it was very old. A bookshelf was tossed aside to reveal a doorway in the wall. The stone fit perfectly in a narrow socket encircled by fine carvings. One of them was of a dragon. Ruth twisted the stone around and pushed hard. Ned kicked the door and the panel swung open. Beyond lay a vast black chamber descending deep into the earth. Shadow hung eternally in that place. Ned gestured for me to follow and lit a torch that Ruth had given him. Neither were surprised. But I was.

"Where are we going?" I asked, hearing the door slam shut behind me. The echo of battle was now dim and distant.

"The chamber has no name," Ned grumbled, leaning against a nearby wall, "but it has two purposes. The first is to hide documents and classified objects, shielded from the outside world. The second is to reach the huntsmen's halls without being spotted … which comes in handy if you're trying to run away from Lannisters."

"I see," I grunted uncomfortably. "Now why didn't either of you tell me about this place?"

"I haven't been down the entire way," Ruth argued. "Only papa has been this far, and that's because he is the lord of the chamber."

"Appointed by who?" I asked grinding my teeth.

"By Yoric," the old man muttered, approaching a flight of steps ahead of us. "It was built by the ancient peoples before the days of the first men. The Nights Watch added to what they found digging in the forest and hid the rest here. And trust me son, its better off not knowing about the secrets. They only wear you down until you end up bent and wrinkled, like I am. No one man was born to carry the burden. But I am the last … until your time comes."

"Doesn't sound so hard," I chuckled descending the stairwell.

"Yoric couldn't handle the commitment," Ruth interjected. "And he's damn tough."

"More than me," I joked, trying not to think of what had become of Yoric and the huntsmen.

"We'll see," she snorted.

We reached a landing and a flat chamber. The roof was low and there was another entranceway ahead. But even from where we stood we could catch the glimmer of gold. We bolted through the passage until we reached the gilded room. I halted and gaped in awe. Thousands of bows and helms lined the walls marked in strange symbols and faces from another world. Swords lined the sealing, almost entirely coated in rust, almost beaten apart in battles ages ago. Full busts of women and children dressed in royal garb obstructed our way, and there were enormous crates overflowing with coins and jewels. But there were books also. Entire side-rooms were stacked with papers and scrolls planted on pedestals. Ruth stared, dumbfounded at the hoard in wonder, as Ned moved nonchalantly through the crowded corridor. None of the old man's words could have prepared her for the sheer immensity of the hall.

The passage ended in a cramped stairwell near a worn metal vault. Ned eyed the vault with fear and suspicion before ascending to a landing above. Ruth and I shrugged and climbed the aged steps to catch him. There was an earnestness in the old man's stride neither of us had seen before. When we had reached a landing. The sealing was almost a foot from our fingertips. Somebody had placed a long wooden door overhead with a heavy brass handle. Ruth turned to the old man with a wild grin and yanked open the portal.

"You're late," an irate voice said.

"Better late than dead," she laughed, peering at the opening above. A tired looking chap gazed uncomfortably down at us. "Main road's infested," she grumbled, shaking her head at him. "No other way to get the hell out."

"I hear you," the man sighed, fetching the ladder. He grabbed it from its perch with the help of two others and placed it through the opening. Ned quenched the torch and ascended first. Ruth and I followed and they yanked the ladder back up when we were done climbing. Nobody closed the hatch.

"Only one way to get in," the old man explained, squinting at the room around us. "Didn't want just anybody finding the trove by accident. That's why the handle is on the inside."

"And I keep the ladder," our new friend mumbled, rolling his eyes. He stood with his back to the wall clutching his short-sword. Four pages clad in male warded the exit. None of them looked pleased and all of them were wounded. One of the lads had a gash across his forehead and another had lost part of an arm to an enemy axman. Their captain was drenched in blood and bore a wooden leg. The man hobbled feebly about on the dirt floor from side to side as though he was going to collapse. On closer examination, I spotted a rent in his hauberk where an arrow had cloven the male. Ned gazed on the scene silently and shook his head.

"No news from Yoric," the present captain groaned. "We beat them back at the gate, but lost almost half our folk in the defense. Some of us tarried in the wood looking for the poor devil. Those who strayed from the path never came back."

"I can't lead another army, Hrothmund," the old man growled. "It's been more than fifty years … maybe longer."

"We have more than a battalion against us," Ruth interjected, biting her lip. "You saw them … We're dealing with an entire host. The only way we're going to beat an army, is if we lead one."

"You mean a bunch of farmers with pitchforks," Ned snapped while keeping his composure.

"Hay," the captain ruefully said. "It's the best we got. Besides you trained some of those bastards out there when Yoric was only a child."

"Trust me," Ruth jibed, furrowing her brow. "He still is."

"You mean _was_," I countered, feeling my heart sink in my chest like lead. Pain and horror spilled across my mind like a flood of unending misery. Ned nodded.

"Alright," Ned said. "I'll do it. Send a page to the front. Let them know I'm on my way."

Hrothmund smiled from ear to ear and pointed to the exit. A page leapt to his feet from where he sat in the mud and barreled out into the corridor beyond. Less than a minute later, a horn sounded from within the great hall and we were pressed to join our friends on the field at once. Somebody tossed Ruth a bow and the old man an enormous ax. The weapon fit perfectly in his hand and shown with a dire light. All who gazed upon the old soldier either beamed in admiration or hid themselves in fear. I was filled with a nervous confidence that I used to get upon thinking of my father. Hundreds of pikemen guarded the roads outside, their pallid banners tattered to shreds by the first onslaught. Bodies lay about the marketplace splattered in filth. Not all of them belonged to huntsmen. Many of them were young girls and cobblers, driven from their beds. A mother lay face-down in the street, her arms still clutching her infant son, run through by a Lannister blade. Ruth knelt by their side and shut their eyes in lamentation. No tears could mend the killing … Only swords could stop it. The great gate, that had stood stalwart against the storm, now lay in ruins. Gigantic shards of iron and wood were strewn across the bleeding earth. No more than four-hundred huntsmen and farmers waited restlessly for death to take them. All stared coolly into the darkness of the forest, bracing themselves for the desperate stand they knew would come. Ned strode to the head of the column and lifted his ax in salute. Every man bowed their head and stood at attention. Nobody spoke. Ruth shuffled to my side and peered tenderly back at me. There were tears on her cheeks and fires in her eyes. I pretended not to notice and unsheathed my sword.

A moment longer than an eternity slipped by and then we heard what sounded like hoofbeats on the wooded road. Hrothmund's archers strung their bows and trained their eyes on the creeping shadow. Dread tormented my spirit and I strained my eyes to mark the horseman's progress. Moonlight streamed down from heaven and lit the clearing in an eerie light. Just then Ulfric, who had pushed his way to the front of the host, let out an offal cry. Nobody could mistake the horseman now. It was Yoric. Both his arms had been hewn off and his throat was cut open. Somebody had strapped him to the saddle and gouged out his remaining eye. The two blank sockets seemed to stare down at me from far away, foretelling griefs too grim to pronounce. Ulfric broke free from the others around him and strode clumsily to his master's side as though moved by fate. Opaque horror occupied his countenance as he reached out to clasp his captain's hand. But it was not meant to be. An arrow flew from the depths of the wood and pierced Ulfric's skull. Blood poured from the child's mouth and drowned his whimper of pain as he crumpled to the ground. The look on Ned's face was enough to kill a thousand men. We could afford no time for mourning. A flurry of red sparks went up beneath the cover of the trees and lit the faces of twelve-hundred men. Branches and gnarled trunks were scorched black from the fire and the great foe advanced on the ruined gate.

Ned calmly gestured to his archers and a throng of arrows came raining down on our enemy's heads. Lannister knights and Frey footmen toppled to their knees only to be trampled by the press of folk behind them. Yoric's body was flung off his horse and into a nearby ditch. Ruth, now on higher ground, shot down three mounted lords approaching the corpse, but could not approach them on foot. A burning tree opposite the clearing toppled to the road and trapped a battalion of Lannisters not far from the old man. Ned curtly walked over to his foe and dispatched them one by one. Bits of bark and bone flew from his ax and were consumed by the flames. Ruth clambered over to the wreckage and withdrew a knife she had concealed in her padded tunic. Her blade seemed to glisten through the hale of debris like a comet and cleaved the night asunder. I ran to meet her, but was barred by two Frey footman, clad in grey. Both of them wore hoods and clutched long daggers, stained red to the hilt. One man staggered forward and stabbed me in the shoulder. Searing pain erupted in my chest, and I howled in agony. Yoric was right. A wounded man should never be out on the hunt. I struck off my enemy's head and turned to face his companion, but he was already dead. An arrow was lodged in his neck. Astonished, I peered across the battlefield and spied Ruth, flashing me a vaguely-confident grin. She had her bow in hand. I hurried across the dim glade and met her beneath our captain's standard, heedless of the carnage at our feet.

The tides of war were changing. Friend and foe grappled together in the mire, oblivious to their peril. Noble lords and wicked thanes slew each other on the burning plane, pitiless in their slaughter. But neither tempered steel nor the prayers of Mullburrow could stay fate's crewel justice. Ned stood with a small band of footmen almost beneath the shadow of the wood. Burning limbs of trees toppled around either side of the company, leaving trenches in the road. Dying men writhed in terror partly incinerated by the falling timber. But Ned would not retreat to safety. One last battalion loitered on the field to contest him. We could see them from afar like grey wraiths on the edge of mortal sight. Their fell cries rang faintly in our ears and seemed to call with the voice of death. Ned stared grimly back at Ruth from the vast distance before sounding the charge. His orders would never leave his lips. An archer hidden in the forest leapt to his feet and loosed his feathered shaft. The arrow struck the old man's leg and left him lying face-down in the dirt. Ruth tore her hair and cried franticly for help. But it was too late. A party of Frey lords strode up the trail and surrounded their prisoner. Those huntsmen who had rallied behind Ned had already fled or been butchered in the crossfire. Hrothmund buried his face in his hands and sagged to the earth in grief. There was nothing he could do. The old man reached for his ax but was beaten over the head with a pike and tied to a cart. Rubble and broken limbs spilled from the wagon as it rolled down the forest trail and into shadow. The one man who had given me the greatest hope now lay in the hands of the enemy. We had endured the torments of war only to win defeat.


	6. Episode VI

EPISODE VI

We carried Ulfric's body from the field and laid him at his master's side. Yoric was placed on a large funeral pyre and was drenched in oil. Both captain and page were committed to the flames. When dawn's first light crept over the mangled yard, all that was left of our friends was ash and dust. Forty huntsmen clad in black remained to watch. Almost a hundred others lead by Hrothmund were busy clearing the field of dead while another host of over two-hundred dug trenches to protect the living and bury the dead. A woman knelt in the dirt beneath a low grey tent, tending the wounded. She pointed to my bloody shoulder, but I shook my head and walked away. Others needed her care more than I did. I entered the old man's house through the back-door and changed my clothes. A pitcher of cold water still sat in a corner along with a fresh blanket. I washed my face and let sleep take me for about an hour. When I woke, I bandaged my shoulder in linen and wandered alone in the garden. Ruth had shut the secret entrance and had put all the desks and counters back in order. Yet, a part of me needed to escape the house and breathe the clean air. The farm country now sagged bleak and brown beneath the morning sun and bore the marks of war. The remaining men dug the trenches deep and quickly into the solemn earth and all the homesteads were boarded up. Nobody dared the road and the air rang with the rhythm of marching feet. The tree Ned had planted lay broken across the dim grove where lilac and roses once bloomed. Ruth sat there, staring distant and alone at her mother's grave and the dark wood beyond. Death had stolen the warmth from her eyes and all about her were weeds and thorns. She looked up at me as I approached, but could not hold her gaze for long. Anger and remorse bristled in her icy stillness and I was tempted to slink back into the house. But I did not move.

"What do you want?" she asked, hiding her face.

"I don't know," I stammered, hurt by the fire in her words, "just spend time with you, I guess …"

"Really," she sighed, trembling a little like a dying candle, "and why would you want to be with me?"

"Because I care," I said, inching forward. "Because I love him too."

"What do you know?" she groaned shaking her head. "You're just a man … just another man."

"Listen to me," I urged sitting down beside her. I reached for her hand, but she brushed me away. There were tears on her cheeks and fear in her gaze.

"Why should I?" she retorted biting her lip.

"Because I lost a father," I calmly explained recalling nightmares too grim for mortal speech. "I know your pain, whether you believe me or not."

She submitted and her pensive gaze met mine.

"I believe you," she choked, leaning closer. "He was taken in battle, wasn't he?"

"Yes," I admitted, surprised she guessed as much. "He was betrayed by a friend, unless I'm gravely mistaken, and was captured like a common criminal. But he loved his children more than himself and suffered death to protect them. Now my youngest brothers are dead and my sister is in the hands of the enemy. When you found me on the road, I wanted to wish my life away. But you and Ned changed all that … You invited me into a home worth fighting for and gave me the courage to keep on living, no matter the cost."

"And the cost …" she mumbled. "Was it worth it?"

"You tell me," I replied rising to my feet, and to my astonishment, she turned and faced me. A weary smile creased her damp lips and there was faint hope in her countenance I hadn't seen before.

"You're a lousy storyteller, you know," she timidly joked shuffling from the parched earth. "I told you that, right?"

"Well I'm no bard," I warmly chuckled, clapping her on the back. "I'm just a man."

"And you're a damn good one," she affirmed, wiping the dust from her hands. "What was your father's name?"

"Ned," I said, preparing to leave the garden. My shoulder was beginning to ache again and I needed to report for duty anyway.

But Ruth didn't go. A cool shadow had fallen about her and she seemed to walk as though moved by a destiny too deep for words to descry.

She strode from the sad grove with strength in her eyes. I met her gaze and followed her out onto the cobbled way, leading to what had once been the marketplace. All the shops had been emptied and appeared disheveled and forlorn. A pack of silent children stood around a broken wagon that had lost a weal. A man splattered in mud lay inside moaning pitifully to the thankless sky. His left arm had been hewn off at the shoulder and there were beads of sweat on his brow. The entire courtyard was now filled with writhing forms fetched from the field. The nurse I had seen before was assisted by a team of maidens dressed in green and blue. All of them bore a white pendent engraved with the likeness of a dove and seemed to know each other well. Two maidens nearest to the huntsmen's bridge clasped hands and wept bitterly over a young girl. The child's face was almost burnt to a crisp and one of her eyes was missing. Ruth bowed her head in torment, but did not look away.

"She deserves better," I said, searching for a justification for this bloodshed.

"We all do," Ruth mournfully answered.

"Maybe so," I bleakly intoned, reaching the huntsmen's bridge. Our crossing was stayed by almost a hundred pikemen clad in brown. A captain with a long and ragged beard spotted us and gestured to the locked doors. A team of pages turned a mighty gear on either-side of the entrance and opened the passage. The hall within was dimly lit and packed with supplies of war. An entire trove of shields and ancient hauberks was laid on a wide table spanning the full length of the chamber. All of the store-fronts were lined with boxes and crates stuffed with food. Nobody could afford to go hungry.

Old men with gnarled faces stood around the bright fountain carrying clubs. Bowmen and bold swordsmen clambered down the marble stairwell awaiting the call of doom. At their head hobbled Hrothmund with his wooden leg. A heavy weight seemed to rest on his shoulders and there was a dull pain in his gaze. Ruth called to him and he cringed as though struck by an anvil.

"What is it?" I asked pushing my way through the crowd.

"Everything," he sighed. "Meet me in Yoric's office. I'll find you there in a minute or two. We have a lot to discuss."

Ruth curtly nodded and gestured to a low archway nearby. Hrothmund frowned pensively at the floor and was swallowed up by the crowd. We didn't waste a moment. Ruth darted through the throng and led me down a corridor I had never seen before. No candles lit the walls and the air had a mustier tang. On either side of us gaped dark doorways and shelves filled with aged books. At last, we reached a familiar staircase and the entrance to Yoric's office. The door was open and we could peer in at the abandoned place. All the paintings and charts had been removed along with the beer barrels. The head mounted above the hearth was gone and there were a pile of stuffed boxes in the corner. Ruth stumbled clumsily into the room and opened one of the boxes. They were filled with daggers and knives.

"Seems as though my good captain had one hell of a collection," I joked, but my voice felt hollow and bland in the bitter place.

Half-forgotten words rang in my head like funeral bells, recalling death's grim kingdom. I imagined Yoric standing across from me, smoking a cigar, and his lone eye looking straight through me. I bowed my head and crumpled into the nearest chair in defeat.

"Some memories are better left buried," Ruth said clasping my hand. Her skin felt taught and gentle beneath my grasp. I shrugged and looked away, unable to hide my grief.

"There is something you should know before Hrothmund returns," she sighed, sagging uncomfortably in her seat. "It's about Ned. He wanted me to tell you in the event that he was captured or killed … Since both cases are more than likely to occur … Well, there's nothing to keep hidden anymore."

"Who was he?" I asked, sensing the answer was on her lips.

"The hand of the king," Hrothmund interjected from the doorway. I noticed a sword girded at his side I had not seen before. My heart sank within me.

A realm of recollections haunted my mind and scorched my heart with the crewel truth. I nodded and let the fact unravel everything I had heard about the old man.

"I was planning to tell him," my new captain, grunted half to Ruth. "Yoric always said you'd spoil the surprise."

"Some surprise," she retorted biting her lip. "It's a wonder Nathan hasn't put the facts together himself. How else could he have been so close to the mad king …?"

"But …" I mumbled. "How did he escape Kings Landing? Most of the mad king's councilors were murdered ere the berg fell to the Lannisters."

"By running off with my mother," Ruth bleakly replied, staring out the open door, "and coming here."

"No wonder the buggers captured him," Hrothmund growled. "Some of the Lannisters near the front called out his name … Adam … Adam Kingsborn. Nobody could make out what the bastards were screaming from a distance. I've already spoken with those who know. Edard was a good name and fit him well. If you got to know, rumor has it he knew Lord Stark as a boy in Riverrun working for John Aran."

"They must have been good friends before the war," I commented trying to grasp the enormity of what I'd just been told. But doom had other plans for Mullburrow. Just then, a lanky chap clutching a long pike came tumbling into the room. His entire cloak was splattered in mud and there was a frantic look in his baleful eye.

In a voice that vaguely reminded me of Ulfric's, he cried, "they're here, almost a thousand of them on foot and another four-hundred on horseback. They have the old man."

"Have they engaged the guard?" my new captain coolly asked. He rose from his seat like a man who knows his fate.

"No," the lad panted, turning to the staircase. "But you better hurry down to meet them. If they attack, we'll need you on the field."

"They aren't going to attack," Hrothmund sighed leaving the dead chamber. Ruth and I followed at a brisk pace.

"What do you mean?" the page muttered, clambering down the polished steps. "They know we're stretched thin."

"But they know we're not helpless," Ruth argued in a tone that brooked no opposition. "We stopped them at the gate. We can take them again if need be."

"I don't think that's what they intend," I huffed, scrambling out into the main hall. But I didn't dare speak my mind. Hrothmund peered back at me and nodded. The shadow of death was coming.

The place where we had fought them the night before was now barred by a barricade. The derelict structure was composed of fallen timber and rubble culled from the field. A wool banner had been hastily erected atop an earthen mound and was manned by a team of lookouts clad in grey. Almost four-hundred men defended the position armed with no more than staves and bows. Hrothmund strode to the head of the column and delivered his orders at once, but nothing could dull the fear we all knew.

We could see their battalions before us like a wall of steel. Knights and sell-swords churned about the packed yard and called to us in shrill voices sharper than the blades they bore. All looked upon the enormity of the host in despair. Nothing could have prepared me for the spectacle planted mere feet from the barricade. Four great carts had been tethered together and mounted by a massive cage. Inside writhed the shadow of a man nailed to a wooden pole. His hands were tied sloppily to his chest and oozed blood. A band of thugs encircled him and beat their captive with clubs. Somebody pulled a latch and the lid to the cage came tumbling open for all to see.

Ruth let out a horrid cry and toppled to her knees. But I already knew … The old man stared down at her with sunken eyes, prepared for death's warm embrace. Yet, there was no axman atop the grotesque stage. Only a man whose face was more familiar to me than my own … A lord whose very countenance stung my immortal soul. Roose Bolton strode smugly to his prisoner brandishing a torch. It was then I fully understood and cringed at what I knew must come. Three masked lords poured oil on the man and tossed dry wood into the cage with him. A green haze appeared to burn about Bolton's torch before he threw it into the cramped contraption and closed the lid. No words of mine can do justice to what followed. The guards nearest the cage were incinerated in a blinding flash. Bone and flesh melted away and were utterly consumed by the flames. When the nightmare subsided, the old man was no more than a charred heap of ash and dust. Friend and foe blanched in terror.

"And there's a lot more where that came from," Roose cried, leaping from the burning wreckage. Most of his knights departed the platform and let the carts burn.

"They call it Wild Fire," he added, looking Hrothmund in the eye. "One small torch can vaporize a man and I have enough to eradicate your village."

"What are your terms?" our captain shouted, unsheathing his sword. "What do you want from us?"

"I want the man who killed my son by daybreak," Roose earnestly replied, "or else I'll burn your village to the ground and kill everybody."

"And what if we turn him in," Hrothmund dejectedly asked. "What then?"

"I burn your village to the ground and only most of you will die," Bolton blandly said, unmoved by the carnage he had caused to be. "Your choice … Not mine."

"Don't you have any pity?" a lad asked throwing down his spear.

"Did you have any pity on my son?" Roose sighed. "You should have sealed up that tomb … Tunnels go two ways, you know … And so does vengeance, unless I'm gravely mistaken. House Lannister bids you good day."

And with that the wicked man politely bowed and turned his back on the crowd, as though nothing had ever happened. But Ruth could not let go. She clambered to her feet and tossed her tunic to the unclean earth. There were no tears left, only blood. She was vengeance, and I was terrified. I could almost see it: only a few steps more and she would be sprawling in the mud with an arrow in her chest. I called her name, but she did not part her gaze from Roose. I tried calling her again. She had made up her mind. I couldn't lose her; I let too many die. I tearfully peered down at my sheathed sword and knew what I had to do. Creeping within arm's reach, I lifted the blade and closed my eyes … The blunt edge of the hilt struck her on the side of the head and she collapsed at my feet like an avalanche.

Time and space mingled in my mind. I remembered receiving the news of my father's execution. I remembered the death-wish I placed on all of Kings Landing. I had been given a second chance with Ruth, and I failed her. Weeping bitterly, I lifted her from the dirt and turned for home.


	7. Episode VII

EPISODE VII

I came to the dead hill where Ruth's mother was buried and knelt upon the sleeping mound to watch the sunset. All about me were slabs of grey rock and gnarled trees. Fresh graves and vacant cottages sagged drearily in the fading light, recalling warm smiles and loving faces few would see again. Only the village bells broke the crisp stillness. Their ominous calls foretold the slaughter to come, regardless of my fate. As the last rays of the dreadful day descended into darkness, weariness took me; I lay senseless on the floor of hell. When I awoke, the moon was already far above the Western mountains like a solitary eye against heaven's field. I brushed the dirt and gravel from my tunic and turned to go. But she was there waiting for me clad all in white. A linen band creased her gentle head. I nodded and looked away, unable to meet her eyes. There was more in them than I could afford to know.

"How did you know where to find me?" I said between cracked lips. My hands were shaking.

"Because I know you," she replied, stepping nearer. The folds of her cloak seemed to glisten adamantly through the gloom, yet there was no hardness in her voice.

"You're not mad?" I exclaimed, furrowing my brow.

"I am," she sighed, "but not at you … At them … Out there."

"So you know what I must do," I flatly stated. "If I don't, there is a chance you will all die."

"I can't let you do that," she answered in a tone like steel. But from the corner of my eye, I could see she was weeping. "I lost my mother and the man I called father. I won't let you throw your life away."

"I'm sorry Ruth," I groaned, proceeding to leave. But a part of me knew better. I felt her tug abruptly on the hem of my cloak and I tumbled to the ground in a fit of rage and guilt. Innocent blood hung in the balance. I could not live to see Mullburrow burn on my account. But the woman who now clung to my legs was not the Ruth I had known on the battlefield. Death had killed her pride and quenched the old fire. Only the faint embers of a hope remained in the shadow of her gaze, and this time I did not hide my face. For a minute longer than the depths of time, we lay there panting on the tall grass, but two lost souls in a sea of graves. Then our lips met and the world between us slipped into the night like a realm of dreams. Dread warred with my senses, pleading with me to cease. But there was only her, and the glimpse of peace nestled in her tearful smile.

"Not bad for the king of the North," she said in a hushed voice.

Astonished, I slunk back and frowned uncomfortably back at her, unsure what to think. Her smooth grin playfully deepened and I knew she knew everything.

"You talk too much," she huffed, yanking me back up again. "Yoric guessed as much … And besides, you're much too cute to be an average farmboy."

"That's one way of putting it," I grumbled, clearly embarrassed. "And I thought I was clever …"

"You can't hide forever," she insisted, ambling down the mound. "My old man told me as much before the enemy came."

"It's not so simple," I mumbled, biting my lip. "More than a thousand men lie somewhere out there, ready to kill. The only thing I can give is my life."

"Then at least die with a sword in your hand," she bluntly declared, halting at the foot of the hill. "Do you think the Lannisters will seriously keep their word? I doubt it. They'll string you up and burn you with Mullburrow and put the rest to the sword. Nobody will be left to bury the dead …. Nobody will remember you or what you fell for."

"What do you propose then?" I stubbornly inquired. "Should I challenge Roose to single combat and openly declare myself? You can bet Kings Landing would send only more men to silence Robb Stark."

"I agree," she poignantly interjected. "Besides, I like Nathan better … but I think you should fight."

"How?" I wearily asked. "In what way can I serve Mullburrow?"

"When you were king, you never lost a battle," Ruth recalled. "Despite being outnumbered on the field, you snatched victory from the jaws of death time after time. Now surely, the great warrior would be most useful defending his home rather than languishing on a funeral pyre."

"You really think I can keep Mullburrow from the flames?" I muttered, moved by the passion written in her face.

"What does your heart tell you?" she pressed, pursing her lips. An impish spark lit her countenance.

"You know," I relented, closing my eyes.

"Then listen," she remarked, embracing me. "Don't share in my fears. I need you with me come tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's not far away," I commented, brushing her hair. Her breath was hot and thick in the dark.

"Do you still think of her?" she sighed, letting go.

"Not when I'm with you," I admitted, looking her in the eye. "And that has made all the difference. But come, we have work to do."

"I knew you'd see things my way," she laughed, and the sound filled me like cool water.

"Thank goodness," I answered. I couldn't help but smile. "You are very persuasive."

We spent the remaining evening ambling to the place of battle, knowing we had little time left. Hrothmund and some others had pitched a tent not far from the barricade and lit a large bonfire to keep themselves from the cold. Most of the footmen sharpened their blades in silence, preferring to confront death with reserved honor. Across the dim field burned the torches of the enemy, more numerous than the stars. Now and again, the lookout would let out a sharp cry and a stray arrow would land among the men. But we seldom saw the foe leave the cover of the wood until daybreak. When dawn arrived, a heavy fog obscured the enemy line from view and we could hardly descry their banners through the trees. Faint shadows lurked in the murky stillness, brooding evil, reveling in the blood to come. A light rain began to fall and a ring of clouds blotted out the sun. Grey half-light seeped lazily down upon the restless ranks, casting bleak reflections on their polished helms and hauberks. But neither page nor cobbler quailed before the encroaching shadow. At last, a great war-horn was blown and the enemy marched from the eves of the wood with Roose at their head. The man sat astride a fair horse and was clad in gold. Enormous carts stocked with wild-fire were rolled up the forest road and planted within feet of the barricade. Hrothmund scowled hatefully down at the wagons and brandished his blade in protest. The rest of his company did likewise and the light of their swords outshone the heraldry of our foe. But Bolton's ranks marched on, crowding the cramped yard with sinister efficiency. Ruth strung her bow with ardor and took careful aim. But her pose was too rigid, and the arrow flew off course by almost a foot. Cursing under her breath she loosed another arrow and missed again. This time the shaft hit Bolton's horse and the man was thrown from the saddle. At once the enemy line ceased to move and glowered contemptuously up at us from the mire. Lumbering to his feet, Roose surveyed Hrothmund's vanguard with indignation and strode confidently toward our position.

"And this is the insolence Mullburrow offers the crown," he snorted, lifting his sword. "Your village is doomed! Run and you may flee from death!"

Not one man budged. Unnerved Roose pointed to the great carts he had brought onto the field and frowned.

"When I let these crates burst open, you won't have a wall to hide behind," he declared baring his teeth. "Your wives and children will be made slaves if they survive. But the man who delivers me my son's murderer will be spared and his family will be gifted gold …"

Silence fell over the beleaguered field and I felt my heart ache within my chest. The air grew heavy among the people who knew my place, but not one man, woman, or child moved from their stance. Astounded I turned to the huntsmen about me, but saw only admiration in their eyes for a man they thought they knew.

"The man who betrays his brother has no honor," Hrothmund cried on behalf of his men. "We will not purchase our own lives with innocent blood."

Overcome, I knelt to the damp earth and let the hot tears role down my face. Countless souls had gone to their rest for their home. Yoric had laid down his life to keep Mullburrow from the fire and Ned had given his every breath for the woman he called daughter. Yet, never once could I have dreamed any man would lay down his life for the man I had become.

Roose did not know what to think. He stared grimly up at the force arrayed against him, as though shaken by his own cruelty. None of his men would ever give themselves for his name. Sell-swords and petty knights knew no dignity.

"Very well," he sighed, gesturing to his guard. "So be it. Let them burn."

With a sound like a hurricane, the doors to the nearest carts were flung open. A wave of searing heat engulfed me and I was thrown onto my back. Tongues of green flame erupted everywhere and the barricade seemed to crumble into a heap of burning rubble before I could blink. Burning limbs rained down on huntsmen as they fled, and many were trapped beneath sheets of metal. However, Bolton's men faired no better. Those closest to the wreckage were incinerated where they stood or cut to pieces by falling debris. Lannister Knights boldly rode into the tempest, only to be devoured by the inferno their lord had made. Yet Roose had men to spare, and soon the entire yard was choked with axmen and sell-swords. Rank after rank clambered over the smoldering bodies of peasants and lords, seemingly immune to the carnage in their wake. Yet, they did not go uncontested.

A band of archers and village pikemen gathered together on a rocky mound, not far from the marketplace. Those huntsmen who had escaped the fire formed a shield-wall at the foot of the slope and carried the tattered remnants of our banner. Hrothmund fought farther down the field where the old road once joined the market-street. Only two hundred footmen joined him in the defense and many of those present were carpenters and merchants' sons. The old soldier could still be heard bellowing orders over the din, heedless of his own peril. Ruth watched from the rocky mound and wept. Her dagger was stained red to the hilt and her bow lay splintered at her feet. I jogged toward her but was blocked by a company of Lannister sell-swords. A dozen knives came flying towards me and brushed my steel hauberk. But I pressed through the bloody host unscathed.

Ruth sprung from her perch, but was stayed by a burly thug splattered in filth. Most of his face had been burnt and a part of his left arm had melted off. A wicked smile creased his parched lips, and in his eyes reflected an unclean light. Clasping my sword with both hands, I hurled myself within reach and struck off the thug's head. His body plummeted to the ground and was trampled over by a Lannister horseman brandishing a pike. The metal rod pinned Ruth to the ground and hit her in the chest. Warm blood spilt from her tunic, and she staggered weakly up to find her dagger. But before I could help her, a figure loomed through the burning waste wreathed in shadow. There was no mistaking the man.

Roose Bolton stared smugly down at his captive and placed his heavy boot on her arm. I heard bone crunch and a muffled cry rend the tumultuous air. Her eyes met mine. I remembered the price Talisa had paid for my freedom. This time, I could not run. This time, death would not stain my life. Bolton did not see me until it was too late. My blade clove through his male coat and hew his sword-arm from his body. Before he could realize what had happened, the man collapsed onto his back and stared pitifully up at me. Horror seized him and he hid his face in terror.

"I knew you'd find me," he mumbled.

"Mullburrow sends their regards," I grunted, driving my sword through his throat. The man's body convulsed in the mud and went still. I did not peer down to examine the wound. There was no longer any use for blood. Roose Bolton was no more and had taken a part of my past with him.

Stooping to the dank earth, I held Ruth in my arms and knew I was free.


	8. Epilogue

- EPILOGUE -

The tree that had fallen in the garden was hewn to pieces and fed to the flames. A month later, when most of the shops had been restored, I came to the glade and stooped to the clean earth where the stump had been. I clove the grass from the damp soil and dug a small ditch with Ned's old shovel. A part of me knew it was time to start again, to build the dawn where the night had been. A flat grey seed lay fixed in my palm. Giving the precious thing one last glance, I laid it in the cool dirt to take root and grow. Piling fresh soil over the ditch, I wiped the filth from my hands to face the village I now called home. A new gate stood proudly where Roose had met his doom. Only a few heaps of rubble and scorched brick recalled the senseless carnage. No mound or memorial was raised for Bolton and his men. All were resigned to a pyre kindled deep in the wood. Kings Landing would forget them soon enough. The rumor of war called others to defend the Lannister name. Any scouts sent to discover the truth were briskly dealt with by Hrothmund and the village guard. Thankfully, Mullburrow would remain no more than a whisper in the ears of the king and his mother. We were safe. Fields that had drowned in blood bore new fruit and blossomed. Bards and bright lasses frolicked contentedly in the street, forgetting the wounds their fathers bore for freedom. Peace crept comfortably back into the aged taverns and mills, so that commerce only increased with the passing of time. Wagons of fresh crops and weapons rolled into market, and the great doors to The Huntsmen's halls were decked in gold. It was a miracle what a few weeks could do.

I entered the house through the front-door and found Ruth sitting patiently by the hearth. Her arm was placed in a firm leather sling and bound in tight linen wrappings. But the pain had left her gaze, and she leapt to her feet with an impish smile.

"Welcome home gardener," she laughed, warmly embracing me. The soft velvet of her hair teased my face and made me blush. There was a playful certainty in her glance that cast ripples of awe through my worn spirit and erased the burden of the day.

"I planted one tree," I tenderly replied, clasping her hand. "That doesn't exactly make me a gardener, does it?"

"It does," she snorted, tugging me onto a snug couch beside her. "But I know better than to argue with you."

"Oh really," I jokingly replied, furrowing my brow. "I thought you were the stubborn one."

"Stubborn," she jibed, pretending to be cross. "I'll show you …"

"I bet," I chuckled, messing up her hair.

She clawed my cloak in return and kissed me like she had the night we met on the dead hill. Everything had only grown since then, and nothing could abate the delight we found in each other. I lay there for a long while, snugly in her arms, until I accidentally knocked over a night-stand that she had propped up against the couch. The wooden contraption was coated in dust and mounted by a pile of leather-bound manuscripts. My foot brushed the top of the pile and a stack of parchment rained down on us like a clump of dry leaves. Laughing we shuffled to the floor where the wooden stand had collapsed and began putting the books and papers back in order.

"I'm shocked the bloody thing hasn't fallen earlier," I commented, checking to see if the stand was broken. "Did Ned carve this?"

"Yes," Ruth replied, pursing her lips. "He liked keeping all his manuscripts in order. He wrote them himself and wanted a good place to put them."

"There were books in the passage," I mused, recalling the dim hall. "Lots of them … Do you think he may have stored some of his other books there? With all the dead and wounded, the huntsmen ought to have a look around to see what they could find. Afterall, what's the use for a secret library unless you use it?"

"Well there's only one way of finding out; is there not?" she smugly said, poking me in the shoulder. "I have nothing else better to do except eat, drink, and make love."

"That's not good enough," I grunted, scrambling toward the staircase to the floor below.

"A woman needs adventure, Robb Stark, or she tends to get bored," she chuckled, flashing me a wild grin.

"Good thing I'm not boring then," I mumbled reaching for Ned's key. The smooth stone fit neatly in my palm and felt strangely warm in my grasp. Something about it gnawed at my brain, but I couldn't figure out what was so familiar about the ridiculous thing. Why would you ever make a dull grey rock the key to one of the most important halls in Mullburrow? There was no sense in it.

Ruth met me by my bedside and pushed an entire countertop aside to reveal the hidden door. She took the stone from my hand and fit it perfectly into the round socket before the door swung open. Impenetrable darkness seeped out from the passage as though daring us to enter. Feeling a tad uncomfortable, I retreated to the steps and shuttered. Ruth spied my hesitation and playfully nudged me in the ribs.

"Afraid of the dark now, darling?" she huffed, "and I thought men in The North had guts."

"Come on," I sighed, pretending to be cross. "Don't tell me you like big creepy tunnels …"

"Alright, alright," she relented, yanking my arm. "You win this time, but don't think I'm going in there alone."

"Don't worry," I softly chuckled, half to myself. "I got your back."

"Isn't that nice," she snorted, scrambling deeper into the ancient hall, but her countenance lit up the chamber more than any torch could. I knew all was well.

We passed through great archways, hewn into the living rock, and passages wreathed in shadow. Rows of helms and crested shields were crammed in every corner, and with them were crates fastened shut coated in gold. Jewels and precious metals lay heaped in gigantic mounds beside notched swords and battle axes. Awe seized me, and I remembered Ned and Yoric and all those who had gone to their rest so that we could keep the dream of Mullburrow alive. Tears flooded my eyes, and I knew he was watching. They were all watching from a higher place. Yet Ruth was not moved by the dead. She was too alive for memory. She hurried about the books and scrolls along the walls with purpose in her stride. Hiding my eyes, I peered uncomfortably at the busts and sculptures above the bookshelves and saw something that made my heart stop. Etched into the rock-face was the winged likeness of a dragon … The beast's head loomed above the hall like a sentinel of death and bared his fangs fearlessly against the darkness as though guarding a grave secret. Ruth caught my gaze and stared up into the black eyes of the beast with incalculable trepidation. Her hands shook and the stone key toppled to the floor and rolled to my feet. It was then everything fell neatly into place. Lifting the rock from the ground, I hurled myself at the bookshelves and began shoving them aside. Ruth stared down at me as though I were a madman and franticly shook her head.

"Robb..." she growled. "What in the seven hells are you doing?"

"Trust me," I grunted, cracking a wild grin. "It all makes sense."

"What makes sense?" she urgently groaned, tugging on my tunic. "If you don't stop this instant, I'll …"

But then she saw it too and gasped … Her grip relaxed and I was able to wipe the dust and filth from the stone wall that had been hidden by the bookshelves. Nestled between the dragon's claws was a small compartment, an arrow's length across. Gesturing to the stone key, I placed it into the hole and turned the contraption almost completely around. A sharp clicking noise filled our ears, and the great door swung open. Stale air filled my lungs from the secret room and there was dust everywhere. No sign of heraldry marked the chamber and only a low pedestal distinguished it from the rest of the passage. Something rested atop the structure, bound in purple cloth. But it was impossible to tell what it was from where we stood. A chill ran down my spine as I entered the room to get a closer look.

"How did you know this is here?" Ruth stammered with incredulity. The folds of her dress seemed to bristle in excitement.

"The dragon carving," I explained without breaking my stride. "And this …"

The stone key was still lodged in the door. I removed it from its socket and lifted it up for her to see. The light of the torch seemed to dance across its dim surface.

Puzzled, she stepped nearer and said, "I don't see anything. It's just a rock."

"Is it?" I mumbled a tad amused. "Why make a key a simple stone in the first place? … Unless you were trying to say something … Take a closer look at the shape … Doesn't it look an offal like an …"

"An egg," she marveled snatching the ancient thing from my grasp. "But that would mean …"

We both turned toward the pedestal and entered the chamber.

"You can't be serious," she groaned biting her lip. "Dragons aren't real … Are they …?"

But even as she spoke, my hand removed the dark wrappings about the object placed upon the weathered pedestal and low … There was the proof of what I had suspected the instant I had clapped eyes on the carving on the door. At last, here was the sign of fire Ned had kept hidden in the nether reaches of the darkness. For ages, it had slept shielded from the ravages of time, awaiting the day when it must return unto the wide world from whence it came. Now that day had come, and the truth was briskly revealed in a myriad of memories. Before me now rested one of the last remaining dragon egg in the seven kingdoms. Before me gleamed a power more vivid and awesome than anything words could descry. Ruth couldn't help but look on the scene in utter wonder and delight.

"Looks as though our journey is far from over," she exclaimed squeezing my hand.

"You can bet," I sighed foreseeing what was to come. "You can bet."


End file.
